Skyrim: The Wolf Queen Awakened
by Tusken1602
Summary: "We Summon Potema!" You guys got so much more than you ever bargained for... A non-Dragonborn SI/OC. Non-OP SI. "I am the Queen of Solitude, daughter of the Emperor! Summon the daedra! I'll trade the soul of every last subject of mine for a little comfort!" Check out the sequel - Skyrim: The Wolf Queen Reigns!
1. Chapter 1: We Summon Potema!

_**"POTEMA, HEAR OUR CALL AND AWAKEN. WE SUMMON YOU!"**_

* * *

Tala Niwot sat up with a start. The last thing she had remembered was….

 _The wolf._

She had been tracking the pregnant cow for nearly three hours on her family's farm in Wyoming. She had been worried that the frost and snow last night might have killed the young calf if they hadn't been able to find shelter.

Riding on her four-wheeler through the steep rocky trails of the back forty acres her family used to graze the herd, she had heard the panicked cries of the newborn calf and the angry bellows of the mother protecting her offspring. Coming over the hill, she had seen the mother attempting to defend her young from the half-dozen or so wolves that surrounded them. The blood on the snow showed that she had been successful so far, but the fight was too unequal to last long.

 _No time to think_.

Tala reached back, pulling her .30-06 lever-action rifle from its sling on the side of the wheeler. She fired once into the air, shouting loudly, revving the engine at the same time. The late snows had driven the wolf packs to hunger and desperation, because they didn't even flinch at the sound of the gunshot.

 _Plan B, then_.

She revved the engine a second time, this time shifting into drive, sending the four-wheeler down the ravine side and towards the battle below.

 _Too steep._

 _Too fast._

The vehicle had overturned, sending her (and her rifle) head-over-heels over the handlebars. She had vaguely sensed more than felt the pressure of the four-wheeler as it rolled over her, coming to rest on its side once the world stopped spinning around her. Her vision was red, and she found that she didn't have the use of her right leg.

Or the left one, come to think of it.

Looking about frantically, she found what she was looking for: the rifle lay between two large rocks, about fifteen feet away from her. The wooden stock was broken… but the rest of it looked functional.

That's when had heard the growl… and felt the fangs of the massive timber wolf….

* * *

 ** _"WE SUMMON POTEMA!"_**

Everything was white around her. She looked around, trying to get her bearings.

 _A snow-storm, perhaps?_

Looking down, she saw that her legs were no longer bent at the odd angles they had been in the crash.

 _What the hell?_

 ** _"Long have you dreamed the dreamless sleep of death, Potema. No longer. Hear our call and awaken. We summon you_** _!"_

 _Who the hell is talking? What the hell is he talking about? Who the hell is…_

 _Wait…._

 _Potema?_

 _Elder Scrolls, Potema?_

 ** _"WE SUMMON POTEMA!"_**

She _felt_ a figure pass her on the right, heading towards the giant light that she only now realized was the source of the blinding white glare around her.

 **"Yes, YES! Return me to this realm!"**

 _This is a dream._

 _I'm dreaming about Elder Scrolls: Skyrim._

Tala had played the games… probably too much, if her grades were any indication. But she had loved the lore of Elder Scrolls, playing the games ever since _Morrowind_ had come out.

"Wait!" she called out after the phantasm. "It's a TRAP!"

She rose, taking the fact that her legs were working as further evidence of the dream-state. She ran after the woman, trying to catch up to her.

To warn her…

 ** _"AS OUR VOICES SUMMON YOU, THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT BINDS YOU, WOLF QUEEN!"_**

Cords of light came from the orb, wrapping themselves around the wrists of the ghostly figure of the robed woman.

 **"What? What are you doing?"**

 _Have to save her._

 _Why?_

 _Why am I trying so hard to save Potema, the crazy Wolf-Queen of Solitude?_

 _Why not? This is a dream, right?_

 _Anyways, if she escapes the afterlife, she tries to resurrect the draugr underneath Solitude…._

" ** _SUMMONED WITH WORDS, BOUND BY BLOOD."_**

 **"You ants don't have the power to bind ME!"**

 _Oh, I think they do, bitch._

Tala reached out a hand, grabbing the woman's shoulder to try and pull her back.

 ** _"SUMMONED WITH WORDS, BOUND BY BLOOD."_**

A burning, fiery pain shot through her arm, spreading across her entire body. She tried to pull back, but found she couldn't let go of the Wolf Queen's body. The pair of them continued to be pulled forward.

 **"No! I will not be** ** _bound_** **like some slave… What the** ** _daedra_** **?"** Potema asked, upon feeling the newfound resistance holding her back.

"NO!" shouted a third voice. A different voice.

 _Who was that?_

Suddenly the clashing of metal upon metal could be heard, along with something that sounded like bones grinding together. Then suddenly there was a terrible, _horrific_ NOISE:

 ** _"FUS-RO-DAH!"_**

The cords attached to Potema's wrists were severed, but the forward motion had turned into a free-fall. Potema, Tala still firmly attached at her shoulder, fell forward into the orb, bringing everything into a burning, searing whiteness.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello everyone,**

 **Just a thought that sparked in my head while I was working on my other Mass-Effect Fanfic (isn't that always how it happens?). Thought I'd jot it down and see what you guys think. I probably won't be updating it regularly (want to finish my other story first), but right now tons of Skyrim ideas are running through by brain. I've always loved Skyrim and the Elder Scrolls lore, and have been wanting to write my own SI/OC.**

 **Disclaimer: I have NO intention of Mary-Sue-ing my way through Tamriel. Nor do I intend my SI/OC to be an omnicient OP. But I will need you guys' help, to let me know if I'm slipping into the "OP" realm.**

 **A short intro, I know, but please review and let me know what you guys think so far!**

 **ROCK ON!**

 **-Tusken1602**


	2. Chapter 2: Wolfskull Cave

***WOLFSKULL CAVE*  
HAAFINGAR HOLD **

The ground came up into focus, rushing towards them in at a heart-stopping, stomach-wrenching speed.

And then her eyes opened.

 _Oh, crap._

 _I'm in the middle of a goddamn Swordfight._

Skeletons and draugr stumbled around her, as well as robed and hooded figures. While they were somewhat creepy, and _let's be honest_ , slightly annoying in the game, the sight of a real-live draugr RIGHT THERE in front of you, dried and desiccated flesh drawn taunt across gaunt bones…

Get the picture?

Roughing following the chaos of the scene before me, Tala saw a tall armored figure battling a Draugr Deathlord.

 _Nordic Carved Armor._

 _Is that… a katana he's holding?_

Oh SHIT. _Dragonbane_

 _Dragonborn…._

Just in case Tala still any reservations as to his identity, the tall Nord kicked the shriveled husk backwards and braced himself.

 **"YOL-TOOR-SHUL!"**

A pillar of flame wreathed the top of the tower in flame, cause, Tala to roll sideways to avoid it.

"DAMN! SHIT! FUCK!"

Suddenly, most of the skeletons and draugr collapsed into piles of ash. At least, those who weren't blown off the edge or charred to a crisp by the Fire Breath Shout. The Dragonborn withdrew his blade from one of the robed figures.

 _He must have been the Ritual Master_ …

"LYDIA?" the tall Nord called out in the quiet that now fell upon Wolfskull Cave. "Iona?"

"Here, my Thane!"

"A glorious battle, my Thane!"

Two Nord women appeared around the stone staircase. The redhead held a bow in her hands, and the dark-haired one wielded a two-handed Dwarven Greatsword.

 _His housecarls…._

 _So…Thane of Whiterun and of Riften._

"Careful, my Thane! One of these necromancers yet lives!" Iona called, nocking an arrow and drawing back her bow in one swift motion.

"NO!" Tala yelled, shielding her face with her arms.

 _Was that girly shriek from ME?_

"HOLD," The Dragonborn said, placing his hands on Iona's bow and on Lydia's arm as she reached for her sword. "She was in the center of the circle…"

"Then who knows what magic she channels?" Lydia asked. "This place stinks of Daedra worship."

"They wanted to bring her back…" Tala said slowly, but her mind was racing at million miles an hour. "They…. _kidnapped_ … me. I…I don't know what they planned on doing, but they were calling on…"

"…Potema, yes," the Dragonborn answered, waving his hand dismissively. "She is a victim of these monsters, Lydia. Get her some clothes."

 _Clothes_ …

Looking down, Tala saw she was clad only in the loose undergarments from the game. Her hands coming to cover her chests instinctively, she looked from face to face, and the devastation that the three of them had wrought. Lydia walked over to her, throwing a robe around her shoulders.

"Let's get you out of here," she said, her once-harsh tone now gentler and kind. "What is your name?"

"Tala… Tala Niwot."

Lydia's expression changed to one of puzzlement. "Odd name…Redguard? You look like a Redguard."

 _Think. Think. Think._

 ** _LIE._**

"Yeah…From Hammerfell," Tala confirmed, "I was…a member of a caravan…before…. they….um…. grabbed me. Killed the rest of the caravan."

The Dragonborn nodded at the information, then turned and strode away.

"Come with us, Tala of Hammerfell. Let us leave this foul place."

Lydia helped her to her feet, giving her a shoulder to lean on until she re-found her balance and strength.

"Here," she said, handing her two small tinctures. "These should help."

 _Green._

 _Red._

 _Health and Stamina Potions._

Tala opened the small bottles and drained the contents like a shot-glass. They tasted like… _like_ ….

"I know, I know," Lydia said, smiling at Tala's face. "They taste like _shit_ , but none of us are magic users here."

" _Oh my GOD,_ that's nasty," Tala said, coughing. It burned her throat, but she _did_ feel stronger, and the pain and aches from her cuts and bruises (and the burns on her arms) seemed to dissipate and fade away.

"So… _who_ are you guys?" she asked. Not that she didn't know, but Tala knew that she had to ask the right questions to blend in.

 _If this was a dream, why am I not waking up. I would think catching on FIRE would be the equivalent of pinching yourself…._

"Lydia," the dark-haired Nord said, placing her hand on her chest. "Iona is the arrow-caster. We are the housecarls of…." She paused dramatically. "Llewelyn Hereon: Thane of Whiterun and Riften; _The Dragonborn."_

She looked at Tala expectantly.

 _Oh, right. This is the moment I'm supposed to go all 'fan-girl' over the Dragonborn._

 _Can't resist…._

"Who?"

Lydia looked in amazement at her, then proceeded to launch into the story and exploits of the Dragonborn.

To be honest… Tala kinda tuned her out while she leaned against the housecarl for support. She had found the main story-line of the game to be…

Boring.

Maybe it was her inner teenage rebel, lashing out at authority figures. Her little brother David had always gone for the "Heroic Prophecy-Fulfiller" roleplay: the gallant and noble hero, fulfilling his destiny.

Her?

She went for the Khajit thief, the Argonian assassin. She had entire characters who had never even finished the main questline. She loved the Dark Brotherhood, the Thieves Guild. She was the one who sided with the Vampires on _Dawnguard_ , and who was angry she couldn't _HELP_ Miraak escape Solstheim.

While her brother had built _houses_ in _Hearthfire,_ she had slaughtered entire towns as a Werewolf.

She loved the lore, and she loved the game itself, but kept strictly within the confines of the storyline?

Boring.

She checked in _just enough_ to get the main gist of the story:

So the Dragonborn had _already_ defeated Alduin.

And apparently "The Hero of the Empire" was a reference to the Dragonborn killing Ulfric Stormcloak.

Lydia had said there were no magic users in the party, so that ruled out the possibility of him being the Arch-Mage of Winterhold…

Tala's thoughts were interrupted when the party suddenly emerged from Wolfskull Cave, the sharp glare of the sunlight, compared to the darkness of the cavern beneath, bringing a headache with it. There were three horses standing in the trees nearby, guarded by a…

Dog.

"Hey, boss! I 'eard the fighting and two bone-heads came outta nowhere to try at have a go atta horses, but it was nuttin' Oi couldn't 'andle!"

"BARBAS?"

All three humans whirled at Tala's shocked question. And the Daedric Companion of Clavicus Vile cocked his head at the human girl.

"'Ave we met before? I don't recognize your scent…."

Tala did not miss Iona's hand going to her dagger, and the fact that Lydia's hand was suddenly withdrawn from around her shoulders.

 _Ohgodthinkthinkthink_

"Everyone knows the stories of Clavicus Vile and his talking dog…" Tala offered, trying her absolute best to sound confident.

"D'ear that, boss? I'm FAMOUS!" Barbas said, smiling up at the Dragonborn (Llewelyn, she supposed she had to start calling him by his name).

"Oh, _Talos_ , please don't give the dog any bigger of an ego than he already has," Llewelyn groaned, swinging up into the saddle. His amused grin seemed to relax Iona and Lydia as well, and they followed suit.

 _No Shadowmere, and no Arvak. Interesting_.

"Where to, my lord? I can take the girl up behind me for the road back to Solitude," Lydia said, smiling at Tala.

"We're not going back to Solitude."

"My Thane?"

"Boss?"

"The _Northern Maiden_ sets sail in two days. We will be hard pressed to make to Windhelm in that time already."

"So you're just going to _leave me_ here?" Tala asked incredulously.

Llewellyn Dragon-Born reached into one of the saddle-bags of his horse and tossed her a small bag.

"There's a hundred gold pieces in there," he said, pointing down the road. "Stay on this road until you come to the town of Solitude. Go to the Steward: Falk Firebeard, in the Blue Palace and tell him what happened here. He will take care of you, whatever you need. Tell him I sent you and you should have no trouble."

Then he turned and set off at a brisk trot down the road. Lydia nodded at Tala.

"Gods go with you, Tala of Hammerfell."

Then she turned and followed after her Thane. Iona looked somewhat sheepishly at Tala and reached into her saddlebag, pulling out an ornate dagger.

"Here," she said, handing it to Tala. "For your protection. Talos guard you."

Then she turned and followed after the others, leaving only the grey wolfhound there, still staring at Tala, who looked down at the dagger and bag of gold she had in her hands with a dumb expression of disbelief and shock.

"Are… are you not going with them?" she asked Barbas.

"Meh," Barbas said, shrugging his canine shoulders. "I'm in no hurry. I can catch up with them anytime. If need be, I'll just slip into the Other plane and be in Windhelm in five minutes, waiting for 'em. Just wanted to get a good look at'cha."

Now Tala felt _very_ self-aware. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have minded a dog staring at her, but now that it was… _sentient_ …

"So how are things back home?"

She was shocked.

"What?"

" _Girl_ ," Barbas said, cocking his head at her. "You can put on the 'dumb-and-clueless' act for the humans, cause outside of a handful of mages, ain't nobody who could tell the difference. But I know the smell of Oblivion, and you _reek of it_.

WHO are YOU? And what do YOU want HERE?"

Tala stared, dumbstruck.

"…why didn't you say anything to…to your Master?" she finally managed.

Barbas gave her an offended look.

"Well, first off: Llewellyn is _not_ my Master. He's my _friend_. He refused to kill me when my true MASTER would have rewarded him for doing so. And so I've stuck with him ever since. And second: I know what it's like to run from an abusive master. So which Plane was it? The Ashpit? The Snake Mount?"

 ** _Just go with the lie…_**

"Coldharbour."

Tala could have sworn the dog _whistled_ in surprise.

"Molag Bal? _Akatosh_ save ya, girlie, ain't nobody gonna blame you from running away from that monster. Well, anyway, these 'umans ain't so bad, once you get used to 'em. Just play it cool, keep your head down and horns hidden, and you should 'ave no problem. I'll sees youse around, OK?"

And with that, the giant wolfhound turned and bounded away down the path. Leaving Tala for the first time.

" _ **FINALLY."**_

A searing pain shot through Tala's head, causing her to stumble to her knees again.

" _ **Gods, I thought they'd never leave…"**_

 _Who….?_

" _ **Girl don't tell me you've forgotten me already. After we just escaped death and imprisonment together…"**_

 _Potema…_

" _ **Oh,**_ **bravo** _ **: you ARE good. It would seem that your interference and that tall Nord's, has rent the summoning spell all topsy-turvy. I'm not bound to anyone's will, but I AM bound in this body. For now, we're stuck together…"**_

Suddenly there was another stab of pain through Tala's brain.

" _ **Oh, you little LYING minx… telling all those falsehoods. LOOK at all these delicious memories in your head, and NONE of them of running away from Molag Bal…"**_

"GET. OUT. OF. MY. HEAD." Tala's words were ragged gasps through blinding pain.

" _ **Oh, don't be like**_ **that** _ **, dearie. I could kill you in an instant: overload this mortal brain of yours and cause you to bleed to death through your eye sockets."**_

 _Yeah, and then your soul would still be BOUND to mine, and you'd be headed BACK to Oblivion…._

The pain subsided, and then faded altogether.

" _ **Clever little girl. So, as I said, it looks like we're stuck together, for the time being."**_

Tala could almost _hear_ the Wolf Queen stroking her chin in thought before she realized she was doing it with _her_ hands. She clenched her hands into fists and kept them stubbornly at her sides.

" _ **So, perhaps this could be useful. You're a bit plainer than I'd like, but with a few tweaks, you could be a prime vessel of my Vengeance upon this realm."**_

 _BITCH, did you just…?_

" _ **Oh, come now, Tala. What is it you most desire? What else are you going to do? Follow that fool's advice and go get a job scrubbing pots and pans in the Blue Palace? Oh, yes, very heroic indeed. Because THAT is what WILL to happen to you, and you know it. And that arrogant Nord is patting himself on the back even now, congratulating himself on how WELL he's provided for the poor helpless woman he saved. Oh, what**_ **a good deed** _ **he's done."**_

Rage and anger were boiling up in Tala's subconscious. She struggled against it, but she knew it was a losing battle.

 _I…I don't know. I don't know what to do._

" _ **That is NOT what I asked. What do you WANT to do? WHAT DO YOU WANT, GIRL? And no more lying: remember, I can see**_ **everything you can….** _ **"**_

Sentences and memory fragments flooded Tala's mind and thoughts.

 _Mom dying in the hospital. Being on the other side of the glass and not being able to do a DAMN Thing about it!_

 _Dad slipping deeper and deeper into his alcoholism._

 _David falling into THAT crowd at the school._

 _Michael cheating on her with Liz…_

" _It's different when guys do it, babe!'_

 _Her dad's confused questions at the dinner table:_

" _Why do you need to go to college, Tala? You're smart enough for a girl."_

 _Her aunt's high-pitched whining voice in the kitchen:_

 _"You have the right to work wherever you want to - as long as you have dinner ready when your husband gets home."_

RAGE.

ANGER.

" _ **What is it you want more than anything, Tala? What is it you've always wanted?"**_

 _Power._

 _Power to seize control of my own life._

 _Power to SILENCE those who judge me._

 _Power to PUNISH THOSE who WRONG ME._

 _Power to ensure THAT I AM NEVER HURT AGAIN._

The red haze subsided, and Tala found herself breathing hard, the dagger clasped in her hand in a murderous grip.

" _ **See? I KNEW we had something in common. OH, DARLING…. WHAT FUN WE WILL HAVE TOGETHER!"**_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Thanks everybody! I know, still a short chapter, but i just wanted to post something to let people know what kind of story I envision this to be! The chapters will most likely get longer and longer as the story progresses. I'm still trying to find my stride in my Skyrim Fanfic writing...**

 **So the Dragonborn: _Bit_ of a dick… but that's how most heroes go, am I right?**

 **I just was so tired of SI's ALWAYS either _being_ the Dragonborn or JOINING the Dragonborn. Just though I'd craft a story where neither of those things happened.**

 **It may not be everyone's bag of potatoes, but I understand that! Leave me a review/PM and let me know what you think if you guys like what you see, and of course, comments/suggestions/constructive criticism is always welcome!**

 **ROCK ON, everybody!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Review Responses:

masterdude94 – Thanks! I look forward to more as well!

Zeru'Xil – There's definitely a couple out there, but I just wanted to put my own spin on this fantastic universe!

Doombug – I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts, my friend!

Lord Mortem – Dark places. That's where we're headed. No spoilers, just fact.

JimmyHall24 – You're absolutely right! It is a bit sexist, isn't it? Why aren't the clichéd MALE characters called something like "JohnHarry" or something like that? But if it's a bad character: Nope, MarySue. :D

Koal – After about the eighteen character I created on Skyrim, you learn to HATE the unskippable tutorial intro. I would highly recommend some kind of mod that allowed you to JUST start after Helgen after creating a character, if you've already played the tutorial once…


	3. Chapter 3: Now it Begins

***OUTSIDE SOLITUDE*  
HAAFINGAR, SKYRIM**

 _Why am I climbing the side of a mountain again?_

 **This was** ** _your_** **idea, little Tala.**

 _I only said we had to get to your_ _bones_ _. I never said I wanted to climb a fucking mountain…_

 **This is the quickest way to my Sanctum. My body should still be there, that is, assuming that fool Cephorus honored my final wishes and left them there. It would be just the thing he'd do. Honor was always** ** _so_** **important to him. Anyway, for our little plan to succeed, we need my amulet.**

Tala's brows furrowed. She didn't remember anything about the amulet in the game…

 _Why do we need the amulet?_

 **It was a gift from my mother. It contains the soul gem of a werewolf my father and mother killed together. It was how they fell in love, you see. The weaker-minded of my enemies say that the werewolf's soul steeped into my own while I was still my mother's womb.**

 _"That isn't true?"_

 **No, dearie. Nightmare stories** ** _men_** **tell each other to make themselves feel better. A woman proved to be cleverer and more cunning than they were, so** ** _obviously_** **dark magic had to have aided her, isn't that right?**

 _Men…._

 **Exactly so. I** ** _did_** **enchant that particular amulet heavily, however, with a powerful charm spell. It proved very useful against the weak-minded, and Molag Bal willing, it will again… Ahh, here we are! Now, wasn't that easy?**

Tala looked down at the steep cliff face she had just ascended to get to the narrow _crack_ in the mountain surface. If it hadn't been for Potema, someone could've searched the cliff for years and never found it.

 _Now what?_

 **We go in…**

Taking a deep breath, Tala squeezed herself into the narrow crevice, forcing her way forward, while at the same time forcing her claustrophobia down. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, Tala emerged into a large throne room. A single throne sat at the top of a raised dais, overlooking two rows of great thrones on each side of the long hall. Draugr death-lords and wrights sat motionless, still gripping ancient Nordic swords and axes. A skeleton lay on the throne, with a seemingly simple copper and moonstone circlet on the dried skull.

 **Oh, my. I never thought… it's different when you're looking at your old body, isn't it?**

Tala felt _genuine_ emotion from Potema for the first time since arriving here on Skyrim as she reached out and took the circlet in her hands. It _tingled_ , even as she placed it on her own head. There was a momentary _pulse_ of energy, like a shock of static electricity.

 _Oh…. Wow…. That feels… that feels…._

 **Powerful, isn't it? Yes,** ** _darling_** **, we're going to do great things, you and I…**

Suddenly there was a slight _stick_ as a sword-point was suddenly brought to the small of Tala's back.

"You picked a horrible place to get lost, girl."

Tala brought her hands up, slowly, also turning around to face whoever had snuck up on her. A young Nordic girl about her age looked back at her, only… her eyes….

 **Vampire. Thrall, by the look of her.**

The girl grinned at Tala, a murderous glint coming into her eye.

"Of all the tombs you could have snuck into, you chose _absolutely the wrong one_."

Tala smirked. "I don't think so."

Recalling her Krav-Maga training, Tala brought up her dagger in a blindingly-quick motion, knocking the sword aside and closing with her attacker before she could bring the shield in her other hand to bear. The dagger Lydia had given her was at the girl's throat in an instant, and Tala brought her foot around behind the other girl's, forcing her to bend backwards and take a knee, rather than falling flat on her back.

"Lost? No, girl, that's whe **re you're wrong** … **I've** **come** **HOME** …"

Tala felt her eyes _burn_ as Potema's voice overpowered hers, and the thrall's eyes turned white as she stared into the Wolf-Queen's face.

 _"_ What…. _what?"_ she stammered helplessly.

" **What is your name,** ** _dhampir_** _?_ " Tala/Potema demanded.

"El…Elfri…Elfridda Whitemane, m-my Lady," the terrified thrall answered.

"Where is your master, Elfridda Whitemane?"

"Here."

Tala didn't even look, just shot out her left leg, slamming the fast-moving vampire in the stomach before turning and seizing the winded monster by the throat and pointing the dagger at his right eye.

 **"KNEEL!"**

The master of the coven proved to be a Dunmer vampire. He was dressed in something that looked like it _might_ have been elven armor at one time, but now it was heavily patched and rusted.

"Who…who are you?!" demanded the Dunmer, staring at Tala incredulously.

 **"I am Potema Septim, and I have returned to my Sanctum from the other side of Oblivion!"** Potema's voice echoed in the chamber. A purple light shone on the vampire's face.

 _Are those my eyes?_ Tala wondered, but didn't have time to dwell on that question. The vampire master's eyes went as white as his pallor seemed to, and he immediately bent his head, bringing his right hand to his chest as Tala released his neck.

"MY QUEEN. A _thousand_ pardons. I… we…. We did not recognize you… in your current… form."

"What is your name?" Tala asked again.

"Your humble servant bears the name Icando Damn-rune, my queen. I am grand-spawn of Tyrek Alexandros. "

 **"Tyrek… I remember the name. He was one of the most valiant of my generals."**

"Indeed, my lady," Icando agreed. "He taught my maker, who in turn instructed me, to keep this Sanctum and its Refuge safe and secure, in…. memory of you and your glories."

Potema looked around the room and its crumbling walls and facades with something like contempt.

 **"Clearly… you have been most** ** _successful_** **of late."**

"We are few in number, my lady, and growing fewer of late," Icando stated, apologetically but not cringing, she noted with satisfaction. "We had not the numbers to keep this Sanctum in its former glory."

 **"And what of my generals? My inner Circle? You have left them to slumber?"**

"My lady… they have not stirred for many years. They stood guard for many long years, yes, but one by one they resumed their seats upon the thrones and fell silent. Even my powers of necromancy could not rouse them."

There was a sudden stamping of feet, and three more figures burst into the Sanctum: a tall Nord armed similarly to Elfridda (in fur armor with a hide shield and iron sword), and two other black-robed vampires.

"HOLD!"

Icando's shout brought the three to a halt.

 **"KNEEL BEFORE YOUR QUEEN!"**

"My queen," Icando stated as the three knelt, confusion clearly stamped on their features, "May I present the other three members of our coven: Skoberth Black-Song, our bard…"

The tall Nord nodded at Potema.

"And night-sisters Angeline and Carmella Delarosa."

The two vampires glared at Tala, but nodded all the same. Tala/Potema gave the slightest of nods at the three new arrivals.

"My lady…." Icando inquired softly, "We are delighted to see you arisen once again. But… but…"

"How is this possible?" Tala asked for the poor confused vampire, who only nodded in confirmation.

"My name is Tala Niwot," Tala said slowly. "A group of necromancers attempted to resurrect and bind Queen Potema in Wolf-skull Cave."

A smile from Potema crept across Tala's face.

" **They were half-successful."**

Then the Wolf Queen turned and walked up the dais, turning to face the kneeling coven. Then she slowly sank down on the throne she had left almost five centuries before.

 **"Well then, Icando… let us see if my warriors remember their mistress' voice…."**

A massive bluish-purple glow swelled around Tala's frame.

 **"Arise, my warriors!**

 **Your oath, which is eternal, binds you!**

 **Stir up your strength again,**

 **Lift thy broken and battered blades**

 **To strike down the foes of old!"**

The beam of power fired forward, striking each of the six seated draugr. The ancient warriors' fists clenched around their weapons, and suddenly, with wild, jerking motions, Potema's Inner Circle arose once again arose, Ancient Nordic great-swords and war-axes in hand. Draugr deathlords, bound by their blood-oaths to their sovereign, and their queen. They opened their breathless mouths, and their words echoed in the open chamber.

"MU AAM UNSLAAD, UM JUD."

The ball of necromantic energy made its way fired forward, sending a wafting wave through the halls and the narrow corridors of Potema's Sanctum. Skeletons long abandoned began to suddenly be knit together, and Nords long buried in the catacombs stirred once again their queen's call.

"Now, coven of Icando Damn-Rune, you have seen my power," the Queen addressed the group of kneeling figures before her. "Will you serve and pledge your blades and lives to me, as your Queen?"

The draugr deathlords each took a slight step forwards. Icando looked left and right, then back towards Potema's gaze.

"My Queen, we are yours; from now until our final day."

 **"SWEAR IT."**

The Dunmer paled slightly, but drew the short dagger at his belt, his followers copying the motion. A deep cut was sliced into their hands, and their undead blood dripped onto the floor, sealing the pact from a mere collection of words into a spell of powerful proportions.

"We live for you, Queen Potema. We die for you."

Tala inhaled deeply, a powerful feeling washing over her like a powerful narcotic.

 **You** ** _see_** **, young Tala? So our reign of power begins…**

 _Six vampires and a gaggle of undead do not make a kingdom, Potema._

 **Quite right, little one. Quite right.**

"Now," Tala said aloud, leaning forward. "We must prepare for our next move."

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER** *

 _"_ We cannot stay here. Solitude is not ready for your return."

 **"SOLITUDE IS MY HOME. I WILL NOT** ** _abandon it_** **to… to that** ** _slip_** **of a girl who dares to call herself 'Queen!'"**

Tala and Icando, along with Skoberth, stood around a table where Icando had spread an updated map of Skyrim and the surrounding area. Potema's ethereal form stood at the head of the table, separate from Tala for now, but the multiple lines of magicka between her and Tala still showed the binding between her and the Wolf-Queen was still very much intact.

"The facts remain," Tala pointed out, "A Legion is station at Castle Dour, with another in Windhelm. Even assuming our bone-men and the few vampires here could overcome an entire Legion and take over the city, when the rest of Skyrim hears that Queen Elisif is fallen, all the Jarls will unite in recapturing Solitude."

"Lady Tala speaks truth, my queen," Skoberth said slowly. "We need somewhere where we can bide our time and gather our strength before launching our all-out assault. And we must do it quickly: no doubt the dark magic has already been detected by the court mage, at the very least. It's only a matter of time before legionnaires come marching down into the catacombs to investigate."

"There is a castle north of us," Tala said, trying desperately to recall the memories from the game. "It is called…"

 **"Castle Volkihar, yes,"** Potema said dismissively. **"Lord Harkon sits in his frozen fortress and is content to watch the world crumble around him. I remember him well: he scorned to join his forces with my own. It's unlikely he'll have changed his mind in five hundred years."**

"His are not the only vampires in Skyrim, my lady," Icando added. "There are many covens scattered throughout the realm: exiles, divided, hunted, and leaderless. They will gladly join your banner, methinks."

"Of course!" Tala said, pointing out a place on the map. "Movarth's vampires will join us north of Morthal, along with Jarl Vighar and the Bloodlet Throne coven south of Falkreath."

Icando stared at Tala. "Lady Tala… is well-informed of the covens…" he said evenly, but clearly unnerved at her knowledge of vampire secrets.

Potema pouted at the prospects of abandoning Solitude.

 **I will not let my first act as Queen be to retreat from my home,** her voice echoed inside Tala's mind.

 _You were defeated in the Third Era because you allowed your forces to become divided and surrounded,_ Tala replied. _In the end, you drove away what few allies you had, and you were surrounded in an empty city_. _This is_ wisdom, _not a retreat. Solitude is ill-suited to house an army of light-hating vampires._

 **I hate the knowledge you seem to have in abundance. Otherwise, I might be cross at your impertinence.**

 _Tough. I have it, and I will use it for our advantage. We are_ equals _here, Potema. There is no Wolf-Queen without her vessel_.

" **We need a location where our army can gather in safety and security,"** Potema said aloud.

"We move west," Tala suggested, putting her finger on the map. "Markarth."

Icando's eyes grew wide and a smile crept across his expression.

"Yeeeeessss…. The Hagravens will join us, along with the Forsworn, making Markarth a Prime target for our army..."

Skoberth nodded as well. "The other Jarls will think the Breton resistance has won, and will hesitate to commit their forces at this time, so soon after the Stormcloak rebellion."

"Despite Ulfric's death, there are many Stormcloak rebel encampments scattered throughout the kingdom," Tala added. "They will be an ample supply of thralls and undead corpses. Nobody will miss them."

"And any reports of attacks will be attributed to them," Icando said, his voice growing excited. "My Queen, it is a _perfect_ strategy."

There was a moment of silence as Potema's spectral form looked out over the map, then to each of the figures around the table. Then her figure joined again with Tala's body in an impressive display of magicka glow. Tala shuddered at the transaction, then opened her eyes. Potema's bright blue eyes looked out, instead of Tala's usual green, and Tala spoke with the Wolf-Queen's voice:

 **"Then make yourselves ready, my warriors. The War of the Red Diamond is about to resume…"**

It took time to arm and equip the remaining draugr and skeletons. Icando's coven was likewise armed and equipped with the ancient Nordic armor that put the rough fur and hide armor they had sported before to shame. It took even _longer_ for the hundred or so undead warriors and six vampires to slip through the narrow passageway to the mountain exit of Potema's Sanctum. Darkness had finally fallen on Skyrim, and the group was ambling along through the woods, headed south, towards Morthal.

Elfridda appeared at Tala's side in the dark moonless night.

"My Lady… The Steed Stone is nearby… my master didn't know if you might wish to visit the Standing Stone?"

"Thank you, Elfridda," Tala said. "Lead the way."

 **What are you doing?** Potema asked Tala. **The Standing Stones do not grant their blessings to everyone who visits them. They did not respond** ** _at all_** **to me. What makes you think that they will grant** ** _you anything?_**

 _Because I would know for certain before just writing off an entire source of magical power._

 **This is a** ** _waste_** **of time. And** ** _when_** **they see the Standing Stones** ** _ignore_** **you, our authority will be weakened…**

 _We have an army of the undead,_ Tala reminded her. _If they do not recognize our authority NOW, they never will._

They emerged from the trees, the young Nordic woman gesturing toward the row of stones located in the clearing. Tala walked forwards slowly, taking in the sight of the horse beautifully carved on the stone.

 _I took these for granted in the game…_ Tala thought as she stretched out her hand to touch the ancient stone. _I'm not the Dragonborn… I wonder if there will be any response at all…_

Suddenly, just as Tala's fingers brushed the surface of the stone, there was a sudden _snap_ and _crackle_ of magical energy. Tala's body was lifted high into the air, red tendrils of energy seeping from the stone directly into her body and mind.

 _WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUU…?!_

Tala's metal question was cut off by the sound of an unearthly scream. Raw and unfiltered POWER coursed through Tala's veins, burning and searing. Then there was a loud _CRACK_ , and Tala fell back down to the ground. The Steed Stone quivered, and then fell to the ground, cracked clean in half, top to bottom.

"The HELL?"

 **Tala?! What happened!?**

Tala looked down at her hands, her heart running a million miles a minute. She had _never_ felt so powerful. It was a wild, powerful drug, coursing through her veins like wildfire. She heard a screeching war-cry pierce the night's quiet before realizing that the source was her own throat. Her fist lashed out striking one of the smaller surrounding stones. The stone disappeared under her clenched fist into dust and fragments.

 **Daedra…**

 _I…. have never felt like THIS BEFORE…_

"MY LADY!"

Skoberth, Elfridda, and Icando looked aghast at the sight they had just witnessed. Tala flexed her muscles, feeling like she could crush mountains beneath her fists.

"A… Ah…we've found a scout," the vampiric bard reported, bowing his head extra-respectively. "Looks to be one of the Thalmor: their embassy is nearby."

 _Thalmor…._

Tala snarled, drawing both ancient Nordic swords that were on each of her hips.

"MOVE against the Embassy! Quickly!" She snarled. "BURN IT to the ground and slaughter all you find!"

She was running down the mountainside now, feeling the cold air rush past her. Behind her, she could hear running feet behind her. Draugr and skeletons also were now at her side, all running pell-mell for their destination:

A small gated compound at the top of the nearby hill, where the banner of the Aldmeri Dominion floated slowly in the breeze.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Thanks, everybody! Leave me a review/PM with your thoughts, compliments, or constructive criticisms!**

 ***"MU AAM UNSLAAD, UM JUD." = "We serve forever, our queen."**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

OnkelJo: Thanks! Your story was also pretty great, don't wince! I like DragonAge and Mass Effect also (as my other fics make blatantly obvious), just thought I'd try my hand at Elder Scroll fanfiction.

METALHELLSPWN – Appreciate it! I too was always of the opinion that anything good for you can't possibly taste good. Yes, Tala is essential the host of Potema. Her spectral form can exist outside of Tala, but she is irrevocably bound to Tala's body.

Zeru'Xil – Yeah, you'd think it'd all be old hat in Tamriel by now.

Dreaded Wolf – "Skyrim's Claptrap" LOL

Appbeza – That's totally OK, my friend. I don't mean for Tala to go FULL-on "murder-hobo renegade," but this story is gonna be a bit darker than most of your standard Skyrim fanfics. (hopefully).

Trap3r, griezz- "Gary Stu." :D Thanks, appreciate it! I'll check out "Alternate Start!"

I don't want Tala to be bad just for the sake of being Bad. She is, however, flush with magic and dark power for the first time in her life. That can cause some people to go a bit power-crazy. Plus, having an evil witch-queen literally possessing you can be a slightly negative influence on your psyche, as well. :P

masterdude94 – What? Having a evil witch bound to your soul can be a bad thing? Say it ain't so! Lol

Akshka, The-Only-Temporary-Name, Malhavoc Shadowlord, Koal, Lord Mortem, JimmyHall24, - Thanks! Let me know what you like/like to see in the future!


	4. Chapter 4: First Blood

***THALMOR EMBASSY*  
** **HAAFINGAR HOLD**

The first indication the Thalmor had that there was any danger nearby was their front gates exploding. A dark-skinned Redguard woman was suddenly there, twin swords in hand. She raised one at the main compound, and her cry was dreadful to hear:

"KRII! AG! KRIIN!"

The first Altmer solider had rushed her, elven war-hammer drawn. Despite towering over the smaller human woman, she blocked his two-handed swing with a single sword, then, as he stared in dazed surprise, beheaded him in a single swipe.

Skoberth let loose a battle roar, rushing forward and using his shield to flip the nearest Thalmor bodily over him, leaving the dazed elf for the draugr behind to dispatch. Two dark blurs rushed past him, each of them seizing an Altmer soldier, sinking their fangs deep into their unprotected necks. A robed Justicar rushed towards the feeding night-sisters, charging a lightening spell, only to be brought down from behind by a volley from a row of skeletal archers.

The doors of the main building burst open and a dozen elven soldiers, along with a few robed mages poured out, in an attempt to repel whatever attackers had dared to raise their arms against the Aldmeri Dominion.

They severely underestimated the numbers and ferocity of their foe. One by one, and two by two, they were overwhelmed by vampires and draugr alike.

Tala looked up to see a robed figure blast back four skeletal warriors, scattering bones with a clatter and crackle of magical energy. With her hood pulled back, recognizing her was an easy task: Elenwen, Altmer First Emissary of the Thalmor in Skyrim.

 **SHE'S MINE, darling…**

Tala's eyes shifted from emerald green to an icy blue, as she left her two swords embedded in the elven warrior beneath her. A flame cloak enveloped her and she sent two firebolts that incinerated the two bodyguards standing between her and the Thalmor ambassador.

"Withdraw, _monster_ , or suffer the wrath of the Thalmor!" Elenwen called out in challenge, unleashing a lightning stream at her. It arced through the air before striking a powerful Ward Wall, dissipating harmlessly.

 **"** **Suffer? FOOLISH CHILD, I have torn mages twice your elder limb from bloody limb."**

A massive _wave_ of fire spilled forward, overwhelming the ward-wall the elven mage cast in-between them, knocking her flat on her back. Her enchanted robes had guarded her from the flames, but even they were singed and smoldering.

"WHO ARE YOU!?" she demanded, but even behind her outraged question was a flicker of delicious _fear._

 **"** **Your DOOM. Your undoing. Your DOWNFALL."**

An anguished cry to the duo's right revealed a Thalmor Justicar impaled on the spear of a restless draugr, his screams cut short by a wright's war-axe.

"Ondolemar!" Elenwen cried, blue orbs appearing in her hands and twin blades emerging from them. Bound Blades in hand, she spun towards Tala, screaming vengeance.

Potema summoned her strength, focusing all of her energies just as she had learned during the year her father had sent her to High Hrothgar, to learn at the feet of the greatest sages Skyrim had: The Greybeards.

"FUS-RO-DAH!"

The blast of ancient power contained in the old words carried the ambassador off her feet, slamming her against the wall. Summoning a spectral blade of her own, Potema/Tala lunged forward, catching the Thalmor in the stomach before she could recover.

"How…dare….yyyyyy…." Elenwen groaned even as the life left her eyes. Slumping forward, the spectral blade pinned her upright until the spell faded, letting her lifeless frame fall to the ground.

Looking around, Tala saw the battle had come to a rapid end. The elves' reckless charge had proved their undoing, her undead swarming and surrounded them before taking them down piecemeal.

"Plunder the house!" she called out. "Take everything of value!"

The vampires among her cadre grinned wickedly before disappearing into the houses. Tala reached a hand into Elenwen's robes, searching until she found a small key, tucked into the inner pocket of her garments.

She turned and made her way into the Thalmor Embassy, striding over the bodies of the hapless servants within, until she found Elenwen's quarters. In the desk, she located several books of valuable information: the wealth of the Thalmor spy network's notes on the affairs and goings-on of the kingdom of Skyrim.

 _Now, let us see what we may glean here…_

She threw most of them aside until she found two that seemed of interest:

 _Notes on the Volatile Political Situation of Skyrim_

And another tome, with only a single name written on the front:

 _Dossier: Llewellyn Hereon._

 _The Dragonborn_ , Tala exalted, even as she pocketed the two small books in the satchel she picked up from the floor of the bedroom. A casual search of the rest of the room revealed a few soul-gems, and a few spell-books ( **"Cast them aside, dearie, you've got** ** _me"_** ) along with an elven dagger. There were several letters in the desk written in some kind of obvious code. These she took as well. _You never know what you may need._

Pausing, she turned to take a look at the wall. Stretched taunt along the wall was a map of Skyrim, with careful markings showing multiple locations scattered across the nine holds. The ink _glowed_ just slightly, showing the writing to be magical in nature.

 _Now THIS could prove very useful_ , Tala thought, drawing the dagger and carefully cutting the vellum parchment free of the wooden frame.

Walking outside again, she was met by Icando, standing in front of a row of kneeling prisoners. The Altmer and Bosmer soldiers all had bite marks in their necks, shivering already from the first effects of _Sanguinare Vampiris_.

"Your orders, my Lady?" Icando asked, grinning wickedly.

Tala made her way down the row, turning to look at the blind Khajit shaking with fear. Next to her was a black-furred Khajit with tufted ears.

"What are your names?"

"Tsavani, my lady," the cook answered first. "Please, they _make_ an old Khajit cook for them! She hates the _cursed_ point-ears…"

" _Quiet_ ," snarled the darker Khajit, who then looked fearlessly into Tala's face. "J'datharr is Khajit's name. And this little victory is _nothing_ compared to the vengeance Khajit's Aldmeri brothers and sisters will take upon y…"

The dagger at J'datharr's throat stilled any further threats. Tala _felt_ her eyes shift back to Potema's, a change which caused the Thalmor assassin to blench visibly. Potema straightened and turned to Skoberth.

" **Turn them."**

The former bard grinned, and he and the other five vampires seized what unbitten prisoners that remained, sinking their fangs deep into their necks. Potema turned to Icando, pointing to three fallen elves.

" **Leave those bodies where they lie. Raise the rest and have them fall in line with the rest of us."**

"My Queen," Icando acknowledged with a bow of his head, charging the necromantic spell. He looked at the row of turned prisoners, then looked back to his queen. "The newly-turned will need to feed, and soon, my Queen, or else risk dying of the effects of the disease."

Potema gave a cold and icy grin as she unfolded the Thalmor map. A nearby location on the map caught her eye.

" **That problem will take care of itself, Damn-Rune,"** she said, sending a thin tendril of flame against the outer stone wall, burning blacked words onto the limestone:

 **ULFRIC LIVES!**

 **"** **After all,"** Potema said, sending a purple orb of energy towards the fallen form of Elenwen. The fallen Altmer twitched, then, slowly, floated to her feet, undead eyes staring from the undead Thrall. **"Somebody must be blamed for this attack…"**

* * *

 ***HAAFINGAR STORMCLOAK CAMP***

Istar Cairn-Breaker paced back and forth in his tent, looking down at the ragged map pinned to his table by daggers.

"The war is lost!" they had said as they slipped away from their tents, back to their homes and firesides. "The Stormcloak is dead. What can we hope to do against a hero of legend like the Dragonborn?"

 _The Dragonborn. Damn him._

The Stormcloaks and the Imperials had fought to a bloody stale-mate before that traitorous Nord turned his back on his own people. He and his _Blades_ had torn a hole in the Stormcloak front line at Whiterun, and in the subsequent battles after.

Dunstad, Greenwall, Kastav, Snowhawk, Sungard, Amol: one by one, the Stormcloak fortresses had fallen to the Imperial offensive. With their main army reeling after Whiterun, Ulfric had no time to regroup or reorganize before the Imperials were suddenly at the very walls of Windhelm. Even there, the city could have resisted a year-long siege comfortably while the Stormcloaks elsewhere rallied and came to their king's rescue. But what good are walls and gates against The Voice? Windhelm's gates had been shouted apart, and the true High King slain before his throne.

Istar clenched his fist at the memories. _No._ He would not surrender, and he would not lay down his arms. Looking down, he scanned his scouts' newest report on Dragon Bridge. Apparently the Penitus Occulatus had set up a station in the small village, in preparation of the Emperor's impending visit next year, no doubt.

 _A quick raid there_ , _maybe_ , he mused. _Something to send a message to those damned Imperial bastards at Castle Dour that the Stormcloak menace was not dead quite yet…_

Suddenly, he heard a sound outside: A very particular sound that any veteran would recognize instantly as the _twang_ of a bow-string. Throwing himself down, two arrows passed through the walls of his tent, embedding themselves in the wooden table.

"ALARM!" he called out, reaching for his warhammer. "We're under attack!"

He ran outside, ready to rally his men to mount a counter-attack, only to be met with a fearful sight:

From the flickering glow of the firelight, he could see figures in elven armor crouched over slumped and bleeding figures, teeth sunk into their necks. One look told the Nord that this was no Imperial raid.

 _Ysmir save us: Vampires_.

"FOR TALOS!" he bellowed, swinging his warhammer in twin arcs, shattering two skeletons who stood in his way. "TO ME, Stormcloaks, to me! Form Shield-wall! Shield-wall!"

Here and there, figures came running: half-dressed men rushed from their beds, scarcely able to grab shield and sword. Shieldmaidens with broken-off arrow-shafts from their shoulder-blades. Locking shields, they braced for the undead charge that Istar knew was coming. Arrows flew from the darkness of the woods, but they were met with the shields of the Nordic warriors, covering one another's backs.

Suddenly, a long figure could be seen charging towards them, twin swords in hand.

"BRACE!" Istar yelled, scanning the tree line for any others. One lone shield-maiden was hardly a threat. But then he heard the _crunch_ of metal meeting bone, and the splintering of wood. He whirled back to see the swords-woman swing again, this time knocking two warriors _much_ taller than her back, their armor rent and broken.

 _Magic_ , he grimaced, kicking himself mentally for not having thought of it. _I hate spell-chuckers._

He threw himself into the gap. The dark-skinned swords-woman had just stabbed a Stormcloak shoulder in the back, trying to make the breach she had made in the shield-wall wider, for the benefit of the dark figures Istar could see in the distance. He swung his warhammer, determined to bring an end to this once and for all.

Then the female figure spun around and _caught_ his warhammer.

 _Caught it_.

He was no Galmar Stone-Fist, to be sure, but he had seen Imperial Legates in full armor flattened by his blows.

 _What kind of sorcery allows a slip of a girl_ _to_ catch _his weapon's blow in her bare hand?_

Before he could answer his own question, the Redguard's free hand was placed on his chest and an _icy_ cold feeling struck the Nord. Bitter, deep cold chilled his bones, right down to his _very soul._

The last thing Istar Cairn-Breaker remembered before being overcome by the icy, inky blackness was a woman's voice, echoing inside his brain:

 **"** **NU HIN SIL DII. " **

* * *

**Author's Note:**

 **For those who are going to complain that Potema Shouting makes her too OP, remember that her abilities are actually canon: When you defeat the last of her "Inner Circle" and fight her spectral form in the last stage of "** **The Wolf Queen Awakened** **," she uses the "Unrelenting Force" shout. I have simply expounded on it being a special education given to her by the Greybeards, out of respect for who she was (the daughter of the emperor and the betrothed of the King of Solitude). So, blame Bethesda, not me!**

 **Hope you guys enjoy these first two minor skirmishes of the new war! Potema/Tala and the undead have had the advantage of surprise so far, but how long will that last?**

 **Read and review to let me know what you guys think! Comments/Suggestions/Constructive Criticisms are always welcome, even if it's just as brief as "Good job, I liked it!"**

 **\- Tusken1602**

 **Translations:**

Krii! Ag! Kriin! = Kill! Burn! Slay!

Nu hin sil dii = Now Your Soul (is) Mine.

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Lord Mortem – Me too. But then, their arrogance and their religious extremism don't win them many allies, do they?

OnkelJo – Thanks! I appreciate it! The Evil!DrunkOnPower bit will be expanded, especially as Tala accumulates more power.

Ashka, hopelessromantic34 – Thanks! I will! Don't have a regular schedule for this story, but hopefully I can incorporate it into my regular writing schedule!

Malhovoc Shadowlord – Yes. Yes, she did.

JimmyHall24 – I have thralls (in my mind, at least) as lesser vampires, not as strong or as fast those older than they are, and under the control of their maker's direct orders.

METALHELLSPWN – Well, hopefully what you'll be seeing soon (if you haven't already) is that the balance of power in Skyrim (and indeed, in Tamriel) has been dangerously shifted and turned upside-down.

Zeru'Xil – We'll be seeing a lot of the Daedra in the days to come, I promise… Both friendly and otherwise.

griezz – Great guesses and great thoughts. In this case, the Stormcloaks are being blamed for the Thalmor attack. The Foresworn follow the Hagravens, and the Hagravens follow Power, something that Potema can offer them in abundance.

Aqueriel – We have not seen the last of the Dragonborn. How exactly their paths will cross in the future, we'll have to wait and see.

jackli103045 – Yeah, I do. The whole dual nature thing appeals to me.

Marvin – Glad you think so! I just wanted to have characters that are _just_ believable, but didn't want a lot of modern characters wandering around Skyrim.

* * *

Thanks, everbody! See you all next time!


	5. Chapter 5: Thalmor Dossier - Dragonborn

Thalmor Dossier: Llewellyn Hereon

By Elenwen, 1st Emissary of the Thalmor Embassy, Ambassador of the Aldmeri Dominion to the Kingdom of Skyrim

These Nordic imbeciles are useless when it comes to accurate record keeping. It is next to impossible to discern what is truth to what is bardic fiction (no doubt an excellent indication how mortal heroes like Tiber Septim are given god-like status and worshiped in this backwards corner of Tamriel). Nonetheless, we have attempted to perform that very feat, and separate the hard facts of the figure known as the Dragonborn from the legends fast being attributed to him.

Personal History:

Llewellyn Hereon was born in Riften approximately 28 years ago. Records of the Honorhall Orphanage in Riften reveal a young child of that name, raised by Grela the Kind until the age of 12, when he was apparently apprenticed to Balimund Fire-Tamer taken under the wing of the Black-Briar household, serving as servant, page, and warrior for that clan before being recruited into the Thieves' Guild by Brynjolf Night-Gale.

Suspected of orchestrating the rebuilding of that organization across Skyrim. Our contacts in the Silver-Blood family of Markarth inform us that it was _his_ blade that slew Madonach the Forsworn King in Cidhna Mine (while under arrest for Talos worship). In exchange for this service, Thonar Silver-Blood released him, and apparently remains on good terms with the Thieves' Guild.

He next appears on a prisoner's roll at Helgen, arrested with fellow Thieves' Guild member Lokir of Rorikstead (now deceased). Taken to Helgen along with Stormcloak leader Ulfric Stormcloak. Presumably escaped in the havoc and confusion of The Dragon Attack.

Next he appears in the records of Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun as the messenger who brought news of Alduin's return to the city, and slew a lesser dragon outside the city. For this service, he was named Thane of Whiterun and added to the list of Companions (Housecarl Lydia of Whiterun commonly seen in his company after this time).

Next we have him listed as a companion of known Blade member Delphine of Cyrodiil and Blade historian Esbern. Suspected of using the prestige of his defeat of Alduin to rebuild the Blades as an organization.

* * *

 **[NOTE:**

 **List of Suspected Blades recruits:**

 **Erik the Slayer**  
 **Marcurio of Riften**  
 **Uthgerd the Unbroken**  
 **Belrand of Solitude**  
 **Derkeethus Dark-Water**  
 **Vorstag of Markarth**  
 **Illia Darklight**  
 **Jenassa of Whiterun**  
 **Stenvar of Windhelm**

 **I recommend in the strongest possible terms that steps be immediately taken to wipe out the Blades as an organization before they can reform. -E**

 **END NOTE]**

* * *

Llewellyn "Dragonborn" as he is commonly called now, intervened in the ongoing Stormcloak Civil War at the Battle of Whiterun, attacking the besiegers from behind and breaking their offensive (there are reports of the Dragonborn _summoning_ dragons to aid the Imperial ranks, but these are unsubstantiated). What _is_ known is that he appeared at the head of a substantial force that included his newly-formed Blades, several members of the formerly-neutral Companions, and several suspected Thieves' Guild members from the Rift. Taken by surprise, Ulfric Stormcloak retreated, the panic of the rout resulting in the death of one of his trusted captains: Hjornskar Head-Smasher.

Informally inducted into the ranks of the Legion, Llewellyn Dragonborn has shown a great aptitude for small-unit tactics, capturing several Stormcloak forts by stratagem and subterfuge rather than outright assault. He is directly responsible (along with General Tullius of the 9th Legion) with replacing Stormcloak-friendly Jarls with their own lackeys (see _Notes on the Volatile Political Situation of Skyrim_ ). He certainly arranged for his friend and one-time employer Maven Black-Briar to be named Jarl of Riften, for which he was given the title of Thane of the Rift (and housecarl Iona of Riften joined his party at this time as well).

In the Battle of Windhelm, his magical abilities (see _Shouts_ ) certainly laid the city low, a city which our own intelligence reported as one _least_ vulnerable for a prolonged siege. Ulfric Stormcloak was conveniently killed in the fighting, sparing Tullius and the Dragonborn the farce of _another_ trial and execution.

It is also worth noting that it was in the capacity of Imperial Legate that the Dragonborn, in a cooperative venture with the Penitus Oculatus, apparently found and rooted out a small Dark Brotherhood coven in Falkreath Hold. Commander Maro apparently wrote a special commemoratory letter to the Emperor himself, proclaiming the Dark Brotherhood eradicated from the Empire forever. Our own Morag Tong contacts seem to confirm this.

Character Assessment:

To all outward appearances, Llewellyn Hereon is your typical Nord: loyal, honorable, and noble. He has shown great aptitude for statesmanship in his dealings with the Jarls and noble families of the realm, and in the capacity of the Dragonborn and Legate of the Imperial Legion, acts with surprising nobility and sophistication.

However, he has also shown that beneath that noble exterior beats the heart of an opportunist. While under his direction, the Thieves' Guild has expanded its operations to a wider extent than they have for the better part of a century.

In Markarth, for example, it is unknown if the Dragonborn allowed himself to be captured in order to assassinate the King in Rags OR took advantage of the situation after being arrested for other crimes. Either way, it shows that Hereon is certainly not above murder and deception to further his own ends.

Suspected Affiliations:

Aela the Huntress (fellow member of the Companions). Most commonly seen in Jorrvaskr, the long-house of the Companions of Ysgramor in Whiterun. Also reported in the company of the Dragonborn and two children (identified as Alesan and Sofie) in a home in Solitude (Proudspire Manor) given to the Dragonborn in recognition of his efforts in the Civil War. The two children appear to be orphans taken in by the Dragonborn, rather than his biological children (though they call him "Papa" readily enough). However, they do _not_ call Aela "Mother", and the Companion does not make the home her permanent residence. A housecarl named Jordis the Sword-Maiden is the primary care-taker of the children in the Dragonborn's absence (by special command of Jarl Elisif, as Llewellyn is _not_ an official Thane of her court).

Resources:

Being able to call upon the Companions, the Blades, and the Thieves' Guild resources, Llewellyn Dragonborn is a dangerous character, one who must be dealt with certainty and finality before any moves against Skyrim are made.

Last Known Location:

Our contacts in Windhelm have informed us that the Dragonborn has taken ship for the island of Solstheim, only yesterday evening, aboard the _Northern Maiden_ He was reportedly accompanied only by his two housecarls: Lydia of Whiterun and Iona of Riften, as well as his pet dog (apparently named 'Barbas'). I have dispatched word to our agent on the island (Ancarion: one of my best) to be aware of this development and to keep us informed of events that transpire on the island.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Just thought I'd throw this chestnut in for you all's enjoyment. This is the tome Tala took from the Embassy, written by Elenwen. Just helps to provide some background on what's transpired in Skyrim so far. These will be short chapters before we get back to the main action!**

 **Up Next: _Notes on the Volatile Political Situation in Skyrim. _**

**Let me know what you guys think!**

 **Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Malhavoc Shadowlord – Appreciate it! Yep, it will indeed freak out most of Skyrim, and the rumor mill will have a field day!

Jdub1597 – Very true, my friend, very true! Probably not anything TOO crazy (gunpowder, planes, etc). But we'll definitely see some distinctly new tech given to Tala's faction (spoilers*)

Username Requested – I'm glad you liked it! I get fed up with Stormcloak and Imperials alike. I like the "High King of Skyrim" mod that lets you be your own boss. :P

Akshka – I plan on this all taking place in Nirn!

JimmyHall24 – Thanks! As long as people like what they read, I'll keep writing!

METALHELLSPWN – I would hate that, too! Just taking out some frustration on Thalmor. :P

dtabasco – Potema Septim definitely won't be content to just sit and do nothing…

* * *

Thanks, everybody! Keep reading and reviewing! Means the world to me!


	6. Chapter 6: Thalmor - Notes on Skyrim

_Notes on the Volatile Political Situation of Skyrim_

In the aftermath of the Stormcloak Civil War, Skyrim has undergone great changes in its political landscape in a very short time, whereas before an uneasy balance of power had been achieved by Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm. By virtue of his charisma and his status as a war hero in the Forsworn Rebellion, as well as public outrage over the Markarth Incident, the east of Skyrim solidly supported his rebellion, with the western jarls supporting Elisif the Fair of Solitude, and subsequently, the Empire. Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun was content to stand neutral, as his hold stood far enough away from all the others to be vulnerable to attack and difficult to reinforce. This report will shed light upon the conclusion of the Stormcloak Rebellion and the current political situation in the northern kingdom of Skyrim.

-Justicar Rulindil

* * *

 _The End of the Stormcloak Rebellion:_

The events of the war, including Ulfric's escalation of the conflict and his ill-fated siege of Whiterun, turned in the Imperial's favor with the entrance of the Dragonborn on the Imperial side. At the head of a company of Blades, as well as the Companions of Ysgramor (another formerly neutral party in the conflict), as well as a mercenary free-company from the Rift (composed of several suspected Thieves' Guild members), Llewellyn Dragonborn fell upon the siege camp of the Stormcloaks at Whiterun, turning the catapults of the besiegers against their own siege-towers. Simultaneously, Jarl Balgruuf and Legate Quentin Cipius sallied out with the defenders, trapping the Stormcloaks in-between. In the resulting chaos, Hjornskar Head-Smasher, a prominent Stormcloak lieutenant (as well as the Stormcloak commander of the Stormcloak faction in Whiterun Hold) was killed, and Ulfric Stormcloak was wounded by the Dragonborn, rumored by some to be wielding the Great Axe of Ysgramor himself, reforged [NOTE: the psychological effects of this weapon upon the Nordic culture _cannot_ be understated, being a physical symbol of arguably their greatest hero).

The effect of their would-be High King defeated in personal combat by the Dragonborn was devastating to the Stormcloak cause. Ulfric and the remnants of his army retreated back to Windhelm, where the Stormcloaks began awaiting their leader's full recovery. While Ulfric's physical wounds knitted quickly, the same could not be said for the psychological trauma. Our sources in Windhelm reported that he spent most of his days sitting in the Palace of the Kings, brooding in a fit of depression and raving of legends, prophecies, and destiny.

Meanwhile, the Dragonborn was not so idle. Appointed a Legate of the 9th Legion by order of General Tullius himself, he moved the Imperial forces quickly to strike at the two lesser-defended Stormcloak holds: The Pale and Winterhold. The Stormcloak fortresses littered throughout the north were taken with dizzying quickness and efficiency. Dawnstar fell with the aid of an Imperial coup, led by Legion-veteran Brina Merilis, who was quickly appointed Jarl of the Pale.

Jarl Korir of Winterhold appealed multiple times to Ulfric Stormcloak for reinforcements, to no avail. Forsaken, surrounded, and outnumbered, the Jarl surrendered Winterhold without a fight to the Dragonborn and the 9th Legion, being replaced by Jarl Kraldar (a pro-Imperial prominent citizen of the hold).

In the south, Jarl Laila Law-Giver of the Pale had sent the most troops of any of the holds (save for perhaps Eastmarch, Ulfric's home). The paradoxical effect of this show of support was that the city was left virtually defenseless and vulnerable from attack, from both within and without. The Rift levies were denied permission by Ulfric to return home when news of Maven Black-Briar's coup and Laila's exile reached Windhelm. Disgusted with the jarl's inaction and apparently betrayal of one of his closest allies (and, if rumors are to be believed, oft-time lover), the vast majority of the Riften levies deserted the Stormcloak cause, returning to their homes under cover of darkness. By the time the Dragonborn and the 9th Legion moved against Eastmarch in force, little remained of the once-great Stormcloak army.

The following battle was bitterly-fought, but ultimately one-sided and futile. The front gates of the city were beaten down by power of the Voice, wielded by the Dragonborn himself on the front lines of the Imperial Legionnaires. Street by street, the Stormcloaks were driven back, their leader still choosing inaction over his formerly-dynamic leadership. Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced was slain leading the defense of the walls, and Galmar Stone-Fist was killed at the gates of the Palace of the Kings. Unwilling to storm the Stormcloak fortress, the Dragonborn challenged Ulfric to single combat, echoing very closely the scene of the Stormcloak's own challenge to High King Torygg only a few years previous.

Stirred at last to action, Ulfric and the Dragonborn crossed blades in an impressive display of swordsmanship and mastery of the Voice. Ultimately, however, Ulfric Stormcloak was struck down, and the remaining Stormcloak soldiers of the city laid down their arms, apparently thanks to the fervent appeals of their fellow Eastmarcher Brunwulf Free-Winter, who was later appointed Jarl of the City. In a commendatory show of leniency, General Tullius allowed the surviving city defenders to return to their homes, and no further reparations were laid upon the conquered holds. The 9th has since remained in the city, under the command of Legate Hrollod, while General Tullius and Legate Rikke have since returned to Solitude to begin and oversee the training of the newly-formed 12th Legion (made up mostly of Nord volunteers).

* * *

 _Current Situation by Hold_

Haafingar – As the widow to High King Torygg, Jarl Elisif the Fair stands the likely candidate to succeed her husband's throne at the Moot, which is scheduled to take place at the end of this year at the mountain monastery of High Hrothgar. However, even with the Stormcloak jarls dethroned and replaced, her support is far from unanimous. Being the wife of Torygg was seemingly enough for her succeed him as jarl, but being a distant cousin of Emperor Mede II puts her too close to an Imperial puppet for many of their likings to be crowned High Queen of Skyrim. The fact that Falk Firebeard has essentially ruled the jarldom in her name also weakens her claim to the Jagged Crown. Despite her many attempts to win the Dragonborn's favor or approval, he has repeatedly refused any position in her court as one of her Thanes, choosing instead to stay aloof from inter-hold politics. However, the founding of the East Empire Trading company trading post (with the financial backing of her Imperial relatives, the Vici family) have swelled her coffers with gold, which may prove effective in causing the more undecided jarls to overlook her lack of experience or qualifications.

Whiterun – Ruled from the fortress of Dragonsreach by Balgruuf the Greater, Whiterun remained neutral for most of the Stormcloak rebellion, until the jarl's hand was forced by Ulfric's attack. The city remains thoroughly divided in its loyalties, with the two prominent families of the city, Clans Battle-Born and Grey-Mane, feud with one another openly. Despite, or even perhaps _because_ of his neutral stance, Jarl Balgruuf is the second favorite choice of the jarls for the office of High King of Skyrim. Further strengthening his cause is the fact that he has three heirs already, while Elisif remains childless (and unmarried). Rumors already begin of a potential closer alliance between Whiterun and Solitude. It is unknown how aggressively Jarl Balgruuf will pursue his rival claim to the High Kingship.

Hjaalmarch – Sequestered in the northern marshlands of Skyrim, Idgrod Ravencrone has ruled Morthal with an iron fist. However, in her old age, she has reported grown more senile, purporting to be a seer of psychic visions and dreams. These claims are encouraged by Falion, her new court mage (and apparent Redguard refugee). Disgusted with Falion's obvious pandering, and the elderly jarl's neglect of her duties (her husband and steward Aslfur takes care of all but the most serious of issues in the hold), the people of Morthal and Hjaalmarch have grown increasingly hostile. Sorli the Builder, a prominent citizen of the hold, has slowly built up a faction to weaken the jarl's authority as well, and there is serious talk of Idgrod stepping down soon in favor of her daughter and namesake Idgrod (known as 'the Younger'). However, passing the reins of power to a young girl at such a time could potentially weaken the Ravencrone family even further, and give more credence to those who claim that a change of leadership in Hjaalmarch is needed.

The Reach – One of the strongest (and certainly one of the oldest) cities in Skyrim, Markarth is half-built _into_ the nearby mountain, its walls and houses literally carved from the rock itself. Jarl Igmund sits in the Understone Keep and keeps the law as best he can. It is worth noting that he has been the most compliant with our efforts to wipe out Talos worship, as well as hosting a contingent of Thalmor Justicars and Aldmeri soldiers within the castle itself. However, this willingness to work with outsiders has won the jarl a fair share of enemies as well. Thongvor Silver-Blood, along with his brother Thonar, run the Silver-Blood Family practically unchallenged, allowing them to acquire most of the commerce and business in the town and beyond. Further complicating the jarl's rule, the original Breton settlers of the Reach, known as the Forsworn, roam the land virtually unchecked. The death of the Forsworn "king" Madanach a few years ago (reportedly at the hands of Llewellyn Dragonborn), rather than prompting the Forsworn to disband, has whipped the groups into a frenzy. Without a central leader to command them, the various camps throughout the hold have turned to banditry and raiding indiscriminately. While troops have been dispatched to guard the silver mines for which the Reach is most famous, Jarl Igmund is apparently proving unwilling to commit his soldiers to military action outside the walls of the city.

Falkreath – Siddgeir is the Jarl of Falkreath, taking over for his uncle Dengeir of Stuhn, who now serves as his Thane. Being the southern-most hold in Skyrim, the ties to the Empire are perhaps strongest here among the populace. In fact, there are many (Dengeir included) who speculate that the passing of power was a carefully-orchestrated Imperial plot. Since taking power, affairs in Falkreath have more or less fallen into the hands of the more responsible and more respected steward Nenya. Nenya's position as our main contact in Falkreath seems uncompromised. Siddgeir seems content to leave the day-to-day running of the hold to her, while he has relentlessly pursued the hand of Elisif the Fair, in a bid to increase the influence and importance of his position in Skyrim. His suite has, by all accounts, gone largely ignored by the queen. The tension in the hold is high, as most have lost faith in their jarl's competence, and typical Nordic distrust of outsiders prevents Nenya from winning their trust. The situation must be handled with great care and delicacy to prevent a more competent (and therefore more independent) individual from seizing control of the hold.

Eastmarch – The situation in Windhelm and the surrounding hold is perhaps the most uncertain. The constant garrison of the 9th Legion has served to keep the peace for now. The appointment of Brunwulf Free-Winter as Jarl of Eastmarch has also been a great stride towards peace, He stands in perhaps the unique position of having been comrades with both General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak. Tullius and he served in the 2nd Legion in their campaigns in the Khajit Civil War, and he would later fight shoulder-to-shoulder with Ulfric Stormcloak in the Reclamation of the Reach and the subsequent Markarth Incident. His close association with both factions has resulted in him being well-liked and respected by the citizens of the hold and city. What's more, he has begun taking steps towards winning the allegiance of the Grey Quarter Dunmer residents and the Argonian dock-workers as well, further cementing his authority as successor to so charismatic a leader as Ulfric Stormcloak.

Winterhold – Jarl Kraldar, it could be argued, was appointed to the position almost against his will. With Jarl Korir in exile (given asylum in Windhelm, oddly enough, by his old friend Brunwulf Free-Winter), Kraldar has regardless thrown himself into restoring the largely-ruined town of Winterhold (and the surrounding area, back to its former glory. With the Great Collapse of 4E 122 devastating the landscape and town, the jarl has extended a hand of friendship with Arch-Mage Savos Aren of the Mage's College, where before there had only been hostility between the town and the college. Uncharacteristically open-minded for a Nord, he has also called 2nd Minister Ancano for advice concerning exploring the possibilities of a closer relationship with the Aldmeri Dominion establishing a permanent embassy in the town. While Justicar Ancano has recommended against such a commitment of resources and effort towards the dying town, Kraldar's apparent willingness (verging on desire) to work with outsiders should be taken into consideration in future dealings with Skyrim and the Old Holds.

The Pale – Brina Merilis, by all accounts, was the primary _de facto_ ruler of Dawnstar, much to the chagrin of Jarl Skald Felgeif the Elder. Talos worship was the most widespread in this hold, especially as the jarl and his court mages began propagating the belief that the return of the dragons was directly correlated with Talos' wrath at the Nord's lack of devotion. The less-superstitious of his subjects took his decision to turn to prayers rather than swords to defend his people as the final confirmation of his growing incompetence, and many turned to Brina, asking her to take over the formal leadership of the hold. With the aid of her former lieutenant and fellow veteran Legionnaire Horik Half-Hand, Brina and a group of citizens armed themselves and attacked the White Hall during the night, in coordination with a group from the 9th Legion (led by Llewellyn Dragonborn. Skald the Elder and his court were forced to flee, and Merilis was proclaimed Jarl of the Pale. Brina has used her new office to increase and expand mining operations, using the hold's natural iron and quicksilver deposits to encourage trade, mostly with the East Empire Trading Company outpost in Solitude. Skald's fate, and subsequently his location, remains unknown, however, something which surely gives the newly-appointed Jarl of the Pale cause for concern.

Riften – Maven Black-Briar and her family have always been a formidable force in the Rift. With a rumored alliance with the Thieves' Guild, Maven drove her business rivals to either capitulation or bankruptcy. Using her Imperial contacts and paid mercenaries, she took advantage of Jarl Laila Law-Giver's Stormcloak patriotism to seize power and send the former jarl away in exile, in a rare example of magnanimity (or more likely a carefully-thought-out gesture to gain face in the eyes of her new subjects. Since taking power, however, she has proven adept at political manipulations. Riften has become a hub of trade coming north from Cyrodiil and south from Windhelm, opening ports such as Solstheim and Morrowind to a level of trade unknown since the Red Mountain's eruption. Furthermore, she has also begun making alliances with the Snow-Shod family of Solitude, and consequently the Vici family of Cyrodiil (the fiancé of Asgeir Snow-Shod). Despite Unmid Snow-Shod being the housecarl of ousted jarl Laila Law-Giver, he has not been observed to oppose his brother's alliance with new Jarl of Riften. Our agent Anuriel has informed us that Laila Law-Giver has rallied several Riften loyalist to her cause, (most of them former Stormcloaks), in a secret camp just east of Ivarstead, led by her loyal captain Gonnar Oath-Giver. It would seem the formerly-demure Nord woman will not be content to cede her throne without a fight.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Just another quick world-building chapter, a sneak peek at what's happened so far, and setting the stage for what's to come.**

 **Next chapter, we'll return to Tala and her undead army, heading for a certain vampire lair in Haafingar…**

 **Thanks, everybody! If there's somebody/something you'd like to see in this fic, don't hesitate to suggest it to me, as most of this fic is still in the "Wild Idea" stage! :D**

 **Read and Review, Please! Even a simple "Good job, I liked it," makes my day that much better!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Malhavoc Shadowlord – Cicero and the Dear Mother were _not_ purged, as they hadn't arrived at the Falkreath Sanctuary yet. And yes, if we can get the Forsworn _and_ the vampires with us, it will be a mighty Horde indeed.

griezz – Don't want to give too many spoilers for the Hircine aspect of the Dragonborn, but it will come up later. Hmm, "Conquering Warlord Who Comes Out of Nowhere" doesn't seem like a BAD title to have… :-)

We WILL be seeing a certain child vampire once again (and maybe a few more friends).

jdub1597 – These are great thoughts. However, flamethrowers are kinda rendered moot in a world of magic spell-chuckers. And if the Dragonborn can summon _dragons_ to fight for him, air superiority will definitely be a challenge to achieve.

masterdude94 – Thanks! I actually read Ulfric's and Delphine's dossiers before writing the chapter, as I was aiming for the same feel!

PC Principal – Thanks! I don't want to stray too much from the lore, and grammar is important to me, as prepositions are things I hate ending sentences with. :P

No plans on Potema/Tala pairing… it'd be difficult, being as they share a body. Or would that make it easier? ;)

Thanks, everybody! ROCK ON!


	7. Chapter 7: Gathering Allies

**Pinemoon Cave  
Haafingar Hold **

Nestor Constantius sat in the depths, overlooking his "congregation". The werewolves that the coven had taken in had strengthened them, allowing them to resist the Vigilants' attack last week. Those Silver Hand bastards who had come hunting had been given a nasty surprise as well. However, even as the younglings and the pups celebrated these recent victories, the amount of attention Pinemoon Cave had been given troubled him. By now surely their existence had been reported to the Blue Palace of Solitude.

And these rumors of a reformed Dawnguard were…worrisome, to say the least, and potentially disastrous to say the worst.

"Pater!"

A shout interrupted his broodings as Felicia, one of the new fledglings, came running down the passageway.

"What is it, child?" he asked rising to his feet, already reaching out to buckle on his sword, which leaned against his chair.

"A visitor."

"A visitor? Who?"

"Master Damn-Rune."

 _Icando_.

Nestor never cared much for the Dunmer, but the two of them did share the same maker. He had even dwelt in Potema's Refuge until Roldan Ironshriek had finally died. This made Icando as close to a brother as an immortal vampire could have, for better or for worse.

"Show him in."

The Imperial straightened his robes and resumed his seat, trying to look as regal as possible as Icando Damn-Rune entered _his_ coven, flanked on each side by one of the werewolves Nestor had on guard duty outside.

"The Father greet you, brother," Icando greeted, his words rolling off that gods-damned silver tongue of his.

"Molag Bal can keep his blessings," Nestor scoffed dismissively. "He generally helps those who help themselves."

"Which you _certainly_ seem to be doing," Icando replied, the flattery in his speech _palpable_. "You've upgraded, it seems, from taming wolves to… Wolf-men. _Very_ Impressive."

"Enough." Nestor snapped. "What do you _want_ from me, Icando?

"Brother," Icando placated, feigning hurt and injury, "I want nothing _from you_. I have come to _give_ you much, however."

"Oh?" Nestor said, not fooled one bit. Curious, yes, not fooled. "And what would _that_ be?"

"A warning, and an opportunity."

"A warning?"

"Sybille Stentor mobilizes a group of legionnaires, backed by a good number of mercenaries, paid from her own pocket, to wipe you out."

A low hiss escaped the thirty or so werewolves and vampires gathered in the sanctum, or sitting just off-sides.

" _Traitor_ ," Nestor spat, furrowing his brows at the news. "You are certain?"

"I dwell _beneath_ the city, brother," Icando said, all of his usual mirth and mockery gone from his voice, replaced by dread seriousness. "I know _all_."

Nestor cursed. This was _exactly_ what he had feared and anticipated happening.

"And the opportunity?"

Icando grinned.

"Brother… Potema has returned."

Now the hiss of anger turned to shocked gasps and guffaws of disbelief from the group.

"What the daedra are you taking about?" Nestor queried incredulously. "Potema has been dead for five hundred years!"

"I do not lie, brother," Icando said, reaching out and taking a goblet from one of the empty tables. "See for yourself."

The Dunmer sunk his fangs into his own wrist, and allowed the blood to flow freely into the cup. Shocked gasps followed his action. The Truth was in the Blood. For a vampire to drink the blood of another vampire was glean and gain his darkest, innermost secrets. There was no way to lie, no possible deception, only raw unfiltered truth. Needless to say, this meant that vampires almost _never_ shared their blood with another, unless it was to bind their newly-made slaves under their thrall. And there was no chance of that happening to a vampire Elder such as Constantius.

Nestor said nothing, but wordless took the goblet offered by his blood-brother, and drank.

 _A Redguard, sitting upon the Wolf-Queen's throne, the long-slumbering draugr kneeling before her._

 _Her eyes turning from green to a BRIGHT and unnatural blue._

 **"NESTOR CONSTANTIUS."**

 _The memories of Icando, kneeling in front of a burning building_ [was that the Aldmeri…no, it _couldn't be_ ], _the same dark-skinned woman looking into his eyes_.

" **COME TO ME, BLOOD-CHILD OF MY GENERAL. RULE THIS NIGHT-WORLD AT MY SIDE**."

 _Stormcloaks falling in battle._

 _Draugr arising from their slumber._

 _Thalmor soldiers torn in two._

Then all cleared, and Nestor looked back at the faces of his coven staring intently, trying to gauge his reaction.

"How?" was the only question he could manage.

Icando grinned broadly.

"I will tell you all, brother. But not here. There is no time to lose: We must move south immediately, towards Hjaalmarch."

Damn-Rune looked around the room, making eye contact with each of the awe-struck coven, werewolf and vampire alike.

"My _children_ , the Second War of the Red Diamond has begun. _This_ is the plan…"

* * *

 **MOVARTH'S LAIR  
** **HJAALMARCH HOLD**

Movarth Piquine fiddled with his ring, sitting across from the dark-skinned Redguard woman. His lookout had reported _'a_ woman' coming through the marshes towards the cave. What he had _not_ suspected was a small army of vampires and draugr appearing on his doorstep. Furthermore, even with the numbers to sweep aside any resistance they could have offered, the woman had simply stepped forward and _requested_ an audience with "Movarth Piquine, of the Imperial Fighter's Guild."

He hadn't heard that last name in… _gods_ , _years_. Everyone who knew him by that name was by now long dead of old age.

"How do you know that name?" he asked finally.

Tala smiled and drew a single book out of her satchel, laying it on the table.

"Immortal Blood."

"I read your book," she said simply.

Movarth bristled. "It is not _mine_ ," he clarified. "It was written by my Maker."

"You were one of the best vampire hunters of all time," Tala continued unfazed. "You hunted the Quarra of Morrowind, and the Montalion of Iliac Bay, even the great Volkihar of the North."

She gestured to the ring on his hand.

"That's why _you_ sport the Ring of the Erudite, rather than one of Harkon's cronies."

Movarth inhaled deeply through his nose.

"You are very well-informed, girlie," he retorted. "But it will take more than knowledge of _my past_ to impress me. What do you _want_?"

"I am building an army," Tala gestured towards the door, where fifty or so vampires and draugr stood just outside the mouth of his coven. "I would extend an invitation to you and your coven to join us."

Movarth scoffed. "Pass. I have plans of my own in motion."

"Yes, yes," Tala smiled, "Alva the village slut, single-handedly sleeping with and turning all the eligible men and women in Morthal."

 _That_ caused Movarth to sit up, and Alva went even paler at her place at the table.

"How in MOLAG BOL's name do you know _that?"_ she hissed.

"ALVA," snapped Movarth, angry at the fledgling's confirmation of this woman's question.

"What did you plan to do next? Have this bitch seduce ALL the guards, then attack and enslave the town?"

Movarth held up a hand to stop Alva from springing forward then and there, but said nothing in reply.

"Yes, what then?"

Piquine furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

Tala rolled her eyes, and continued, slower. "What did you plan on doing after that? Turn to banditry? Or perhaps make a claim to be the Vampire Jarl of Hjaalmarch? How do you think the Silver Hand or the Vigilants would respond to that? Or the other jarls, for that matter?"

Silence met her words. Movarth glanced down at the table. To be honest, he hadn't planned further than the take-over of the town and draining that bitch Ravencrone dry. Maybe taking her pretty young daughter for himself.

"Morthal has no walls, no defenses," Tala continued, in a lower, more serious tone. "It's surrounded by marshlands for half the year, and frozen fjords the other half."

Movarth scowled, but Tala saw the wheels in his head turning. His was an untenable position, to say the least.

"You have a better plan?"

"Markarth," the tall Nord behind Tala answered for her. "Secure the Reach for the Forsworn and the Undercity for the creatures of the Night."

Movarth sat back, stunned at the audacity of the girl in front of him.

"And what makes you think a _wisp_ of a girl like _you_ can accomplish all this, hmm?"

The girl's eyes suddenly flared in anger, turning from their usual green to a brilliant, unnatural blue. Her smallish frame that had seemed dwarfed by the taller men in the room now seemed to loom overhead, filling the room with a terrible visage and an even more terrifying voice:

 **"I AM POTEMA SEPTIM, AND I HAVE COME TO RECLAIM MY EMPIRE, MOVARTH PIQUINE. YOU MAY JOIN ME AND WIN IMMORTAL GLORY, FAME AND POWER, OR YOU CAND BE CUT DOWN LIKE A DOG ON THE STREETS YOU OWNED FOR A FEW MISERABLE NIGHTS OF GLUTTONY AND RAPE."**

Then, just a suddenly as it had come, the visage was gone, and the eyes were green once again. The soft and alluring voice seemed to comfort the jarred nerves, like silk against his skin.

"I will need strong men I can rely upon," Tala said gently, flashing a truly charming smile. "Good warriors, strong fighters. Men who know their _place_ in a battle line."

The eyes turned sultry, and Movarth seemed to lose himself in those _green pools… so pretty_.

"Men who know how best to _serve their Queen_."

A lustful smile slowly spread across the former Battle-Trainer of Cyrodiil's Fighter's Guild. Then he slowly stood to his feet. The bard behind Tala put a hand on the hilt of his sword, as did the two female vampires by the door. Then Movarth walked to the space between the two tables, and took a knee.

"We are with you… my Queen."

One by one, each of his coven followed suit, along with their thralls. Even Alva and her newly-turned thrall Laelette joined them, the prostitute's eyes spitting fire, however, even as she bent her head in obedience. Potema arose, blue eyes flashing.

" **Forward, my children! FORWARD UNTO WAR!"**

* * *

 **HALL OF THE VIGILANT  
** **THE PALE**

Keeper Carcette and the rest of the Vigilants of Stendarr were getting ready for the night when they heard the horses whinnying outside.

"Tolan?"

"Probably another wolf, come down from the mountains," the large Breton said, reaching for the iron Warhammer by the door. When he opened the door, however, what was feeding on the carcass of the horse outside was _much, much_ worse.

"WEREWOLF!"

Half-dressed Vigilants scrambled for their weapons as they heard the unmistakable _howl_ that they all knew was no natural wolf of Tamriel.

"STENDARR TAKE YOU ALL!" Tolan shouted.

"Tolan, _wait!"_ Carcette called, too late.

Even as the large warrior charged into the icy windstorm outside, the thatch roof of the Hall suddenly gave way, and several figures dropped down into the room.

 _Vampires? AND Werewolves?_

 _Impossible._

Movarth's twin daggers cut short any further incredulity from the Keeper as they both sunk into her back, even as his fangs sunk into her neck.

Those Vigilants who had run outside to help Brother Tolan found themselves suddenly facing Draugr Wrights and archers. Those who managed to raise shields to block arrows found themselves swept aside by werewolves and Death Hounds.

Tolan had caught two arrows in his back, but even so he raised his Warhammer to block the blow that the dark-skinned Redguard woman was aiming at him.

 _Stendarr aid us._

The blow snapped his trusted weapon clean in half, but it managed to turn the blade from his head into the meat of his shoulder. The _unnatural_ force knocked him backwards off the edge of the hillside, tumbling down to the rocks below. Just before unconsciousness found him, Tolan heard a VOICE shouting agains the roar of the icy wind.

" **SLAUGHTER THEM ALL! LEAVE NONE ALIVE!"**

Skoberth Black-Song sat atop a boulder, watching the Hall of the Vigilants burn around him.

Undead horses were being raised by necromancers, to bear either undead riders or the plunder from the Vigilants of Stendarr. But the Queen had taken a large party, some from the Pinemoon Coven and some from the Movarth Coven, to a cave just up the trail from the burning compound. "Dimhollow Crypt", she had called it.

Said there was something there she needed…

He sheathed his sword, and slung his shield on his back, taking the worn lute into his hands. It had been almost _seventy_ years since the Nord had been a member of the Bard's College, but old habits die hard. The words that had been hammering in his head began to take shape as he strummed the ancient instrument:

 _"When you hear the wolf howl, show no fear!  
Darkness is coming! Shed no tear!  
When you see the night draw nearer and nearer,  
The Wolf Queen is coming! Potema is here!"_

* * *

 **Author's Note: Full credit to griezz, for sharing the poem at the end with me. **

**Next chapter, we take a very familiar, yet very _different_ journey into Dimhollow Crypt. Hope you guys will stick around to let me know what you think!**

 **As always, your thoughts/comments/constructive criticisms are always welcome! Just leave a review or shoot me a PM!**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Akshka, OnkelJo, Anonymous Jester, Liz, OBSERVER01, Centh97 – As far as pairings go, I do tend to think of Potema and Tala as having a mentor-student relationship, rather than anything warm and cozy like mother/daughter or even a shipping.

griezz – Maven Black-Briar is definitely someone to watch out for. In a few short years, she has single-handedly taken her family from poor shopkeepers in the Rift to the Mistveil Keep. Definitely not somebody you want your back to in a fight...

Malhavoc Shadowlord – Good call. ;)

masterdude94 – I've always wanted to try the "Open Cities" mod, but my poor computer always crashed when I tried…

jackli10345 – Thanks! :P


	8. Chapter 8: Awakened Daughter

***DIMHOLLOW CRYPT*  
** **HJAALMARCH  
** **SKYRIM**

Tala looked around at the wide expanse of Dimhollow Crypt. The going forward had been easy: the draugrs had been easy to subjugate, the ancient warriors bowing to the power of the Wolf Queen's necromancy. Joining ranks with the vampires and werewolves who had descended into the Crypt with her, they had assisted in exterminating the den of Frostbite Spiders and skeevers that had infested the ancient catacombs.

Now… they stood on the balcony, overlooking what Tala knew to be the resting place of Serana, daughter of Coldharbour, and more importantly, the holder of the Elder Scroll of the Sun.

"Follow me," she commanded, walking down the stairs towards the ring of pillars. In the middle, there was the short column that concealed the spike. Tala reached out to press the button, bracing for what was to coming.

 _Fuck this is gonna hurt._

 ** _What do you mean it's going t.. DAEDRA FUCKING SEPTIM!_**

The spike impaled her hand, blood flowing freely down into the column, activating the Blood-magic cast there so many centuries ago. The instant the spike retracted, a healing spell was cast, the flesh knitting itself back together.

 **WARN me next time, Oblivion damn it!**

 _What, you can't take pain, queenie?_

The blue flames cast themselves wide around the circle, the pattern zig-zagging around the monoliths.

"There," Tala commanded, pointing to one of the empty braziers, "Push that one backwards."

 ** _They wanted to ensure that whoever came for her was willing to bleed for her, and had the strength to move the pillars, and thus, proving they had the strength to protect her_** _._

 _I suppose they did. Clever._

She continued to give commands: this one back, that one sideways. One by one, the braziers were lit by the same blue fire that seemed to hang in the air. As one of the werewolves shove the last one into place, the entire circle sank down, revealing the tall pillar that contained Serana.

"Impressive," Icando mused. "Whoever buried this here REALLY didn't want it found."

"Her mother. Hiding her from her father. Let me do the talking," Tala insisted. As the slab of stone slowly descended, revealing the ancient daughter of Coldharbour. Serana pitched forward, arms still folded across her chest. Tala stretched out a hand to steady her.

"Bring him."

A bound and gagged Vigilant prisoner was shoved forward, forced down to his knees.

"Drink, child."

Amber eyes opened, and ivory fangs flashed, sinking into the human's neck. The muffled screams did not last long as the life-force was drained from his body. Slowly, a semblance of color returned to the vampire's pallor, and her gaunt cheeks fleshed out and became smooth once again.

"Ahhh," Serana said, breathing deeply. " _That's_ better."

Then she turned and looked at the eclectic group surrounding her. Draugr stood guard around the ring of pillars. Werewolves stood side by sides with vampires, young and old. And before her stood a dark-toned woman, wearing a crown upon her head.

"Who… who are you?"

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Serana of Volkihar," Tala greeted, nodding her head politely. "We have much to discuss. Long have you slumbered, and the world is a different place now."

"I'll say," Serana agreed, looking around at the cavern. "This looks _nothing_ like it did when I was put here."

"Your mother wanted to keep you safe," Tala said gently. "And she succeeded… until now."

"My mother?" Serana said, instantly tensing. "Did… is she the one that sent you?"

"My name is Tala Niwot," Tala introduced herself. "Your mother and I have never met, but we are both on the same side: resisting your father's attempt to bring about the Prophecy of Auri-El."

"He… he's _still_ on about that?" Serana asked. "He… I mean… I know he was obsessed about it."

"His obsession has descended into madness, I'm afraid," Tala said gravely. "He has devoted all of his energy and power into finding _that_ ," she continued, pointing at the Elder Scroll.

Even beneath her vampiric complexion, Serena paled at the Wolf Queen's words.

"Oh yes, I know what you carry with you, Daughter of Coldharbour. And I will do _everything_ within my power to keep it from your father's grasp."

Serana's muscles tensed and rippled as she reached up a hand to secure the scroll on her back, and the other hand drew the ancient dagger from her belt.

"You _will not_ take it from me."

My own followers bared fangs and blades at the drawn steel so close to their queen, but Tala held up a hand.

"Put that dagger away, _child_ ," she scoffed, "I am a _Queen_ , not a common tomb-robber or thief. I have no intention of _taking_ anything from you."

She gestured to the two dozen or so fighters stationed around the circle, and then to the archers that still stood guard on the platform far above.

"Not that you are in a position to stop me."

Serana took another look around the crypt, slowly replacing the dagger in her belt.

"I…I have to get back," she pleaded, the voice of the little girl denied her childhood painfully evident. "If I could just talk to my father…"

"…He will sacrifice you on the altar of Molag Bal… _again_."

A slap across the face could not have had a bigger impact on the girl. Her eyes went wide, and her fists clenched until Tala thought her nails would draw blood from her palm.

 **And they called** ** _ME_** **cruel.**

 _This is not the time for gentle words or half-measures._

Tala stepped forward towards the recently-awakened vampire and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch, but did not shy away.

"Your father cannot be trusted, my dear," Tala said in a gentler tone. "Now, he cares about one thing, and one thing only: extinguishing the sun itself and bathing these lands in eternal darkness."

The red eyes narrowed in the flickering light of the burning braziers.

"Why should I believe you?"

The eyes shifted from green to ice blue. Then, with a supreme act of will, they shifted back again.

"You are new to this world, Serena, and we are strangers to one another. Therefore, I will forgive the arrogance and impertinence of the question and answer: You should believe only half of what you see, and none of what you hear. Join me, and we will get the truth of the matter from your Mother herself, once we free her from the Soul Cairn."

Concern and dismay sprang to Serana's face.

 _"What?"_

"It was the one place your father would not pursue," Tala explained quickly. "Now she is trapped, held there by the Masters, unless we can get her out. Will you help me do that, at least?"

Serena relaxed, but only slightly.

"I will help you get my mother free," she said finally. "Now how do we get out of here?"

"Back the way we came, of course," Icando offered, gesturing towards the winding staircase behind us.

"My forces and I are bound for the west," Tala informed her. "We will stake a claim for our kind in the mountain fortresses found there."

There were a few chuckles from the assembled vampires at the "stake" reference. The queen smiled and continued on.

"Who is the High King now?" Serena asked.

Tala sighed and held up a hand to stop any of her followers attempting to answer her.

"As I said earlier, Serana: much has changed. There is an Emperor now in Cyrodiil who claims lordship over the lands. But hold your questions for now."

She turned and strode back into the darkness of the tunnel that would lead them out.

"There is much to tell you."

Tala's emerald eyes shifted to Potema's blue.

 **"Oh,** _ **darling…**_ **and what a world it is you've woken up to…."**

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hey everybody!**

 **Thought I'd at least put a short chapter for this story. Sorry I've been away for so long, I've been working on my Mass Effect fanfic, but while I was sick for the past week, I had time to dabble back in the world of Skyrim again. Hopefully I can begin semi-regular updates of this story again, as it's a concept I'm excited about!**

 **Hope you've all enjoyed the reunion with a favorite character of many of ours: Serana. There's… not quite trust between Serana and Tala/Potema, but there is definitely guarded curiosity. For now, the promise of freeing her mother is enough to get Serana to follow.**

 **But how long will that last?**

 **Hope to get the next chapter up before too long, but in the meantime, read, review, and let me know what you think! Where do you see this story going next? What would YOU do in this situation? Whatever you like! Comments, constructive criticism, and compliments are all equally welcome!**

 **-Tusken1602**


	9. Chapter 9: Karthwasten Council

***BLIND CLIFF BASTION*  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

"What are we doing here?"

Tala rolled her eyes at the nearly incredulous question from Serana.

"There is someone here that I need to talk to."

Icando grunted as a thrown dagger took a charging fur-clad tribesman in the throat.

"These do not seem in a conversational mood, my queen."

Tala laughed as she blocked an arrow with her sword and then launched a fireball back at the offending archer, who pitched back, dropping her weapon as screams of agony filled the ruin's hallways.

"These are not the ones I would speak to, my friend," she answered. She pointed with a sword at the iron cage in the corner. " _She is."_

The huddled form in the corner of the cage moved and shakily stood to her feet, the other prisoners stepping aside to allow her through.

"And what," croaked a frail voice, "would a beauty like you want with old Melka?"

"Your sister," Tala replied, flinging the blood off her twin swords. "Petra: she has betrayed the Old Ones, and taken this tower from you."

" _Traitor_ ," the hagraven hissed, "She must _die."_

"I will kill her for you," Tala continued, "But I need something from you in return."

"Name it, pretty meat, and it is yours!" screeched the ancient shamaness.

"Swear it," Tala insisted.

A long talon sliced open flesh and black blood dripped onto the floor.

"Slay Petra, and return this tower to the True Forsworn, and Old Melka will grant you any boon within my power. So swears Melka, Mother Keeper of these my children."

The imprisoned Forsworn all made a fist and clasped it over their chests, murmuring "Witnessed" in union.

"Open the cages," Tala ordered, then turned back to the prisoners. "Arm yourselves, those who are able, or else follow after us, and collect the weapons of the fallen."

The gate opened, and the freed Forsworn scurried over to their former guards, snatching up swords, axes, daggers and bows.

"That featherless _bitch_ will be at the Sanctum at the top of the tower," Melka hissed. "Wring her neck, pluck her eyes!"

"Then that is where we must go," Tala nodded, "Do you keep behind me, old mother, and together we will pluck the traitor."

A rasping chortling laughter answered, and the party, vampires and Forsworn alike, set off up the winding staircase until they came to an iron door.

"There is a hidden lever to open," Melka explained, as two of her Forsworn both attempted to shove the door open with wide and brawny shoulders.

"Stand aside!" Tala yelled, and aimed a vicious kick at the center lock. The metal buckled and broke, the two doors swinging open. There was a murmur of admiration and wonder from the assembled tribesmen.

"Follow!"

The staircase wound up and up, until a final iron door stood between them and the Great Chamber of Blind Cliff Bastion. Another kick, and the heavy doors were flung opened, and Tala/Potema's party poured into the room.

"PETRA, you traitorous grouse!" screeched Melka, "Time to DIE!"

A harsh screech answered, and another hagraven rose from the ancient altar set up on the far side of the room. A fire blazed in her empty palm, and a massive fireball arched towards the woman at the head of the room's invaders. Just before it struck the woman, the magic attack _dissipated_ entirely, without shield or ward wall. The woman's eyes turned bright blue and a piercing laugh filled the room. A blur went through the air, and the traitor hagraven was suddenly flung back, the short sword pinning her to the wall. Petra's supporters gave wailing cries, and flung themselves forward, determined to die with their Keeper.

They were obliged. Icando's throwing daggers found their targets, and Serana dropped a limp body, blood dribbling down her neck. Melka strode over to the still-quivering corpse of her sister, and then tore into her body with talons and teeth alike. Feathers, blood, and bone went flying as the body fell to the floor. Tala walked up next to her, reaching up to pull her sword free of the wooden beam.

"Melka remembers her oath," the hagraven wheezed. "What would you have of me, pretty?"

"Invite the rest of the Hagravens here," Tala said without hesitation, "Or I will meet them wherever they desire."

"For what purpose?" asked one of the Forsworn.

Potema turned to the speaker, and smiled.

"I would lead them to war. To reclaim the Reach from those who stole it from them."

There was a murmur of dissent from the armed tribesmen in the room. Melka chuckled as she sharpened her talons against one another.

"The Forsworn will never submit to the rule of a Nord, even one so well known as the Wolf Queen."

"BITCH, do I LOOK like a Nord?"

The blue eyes were gone, and the emerald sheen of Tala's eyes burned brightly.

"The Wolf-queen is a WEAPON, like the claws of your hands, or the dagger in my belt. The Nords fear her, and by proxy they will fear us, and they will fear ME. I BOUND her to ME. And her power is MINE."

Melka cocked her head at an odd angle, looking the young girl up and down.

"You are no Redguard, you are no Breton, you are no Nord. Who are you, girl? Look deep into old Melka's eyes, if you dare. Look, and I will look upon thee."

 **NO. Don't do it!**

 _I don't give a single fuck for some hag's witch-powers._

Potema cringed and withdrew as Tala met the Hagraven's gaze. The eyes were black, and fathomless, and seemed to swallow the light from the flickering torches. Icando shifted uncomfortably. Even valiant warriors had been driven mad by a Hagraven's gaze. But instead, there was a flicker of fear and disbelief in the crone's eyes.

"NO!" she shrieked, "It is not possible. YOU CANNOT BE HERE!

The green eyes smiled, and Tala's smile seemed to grow cold and hard, while remaining utterly mirthless.

"And yet… HERE I AM."

Melka took two steps back, tripping over the arm of the late Petra. She fell to the ground, trying to crawl backwards away from the swordswoman.

"Look away, Woodland Man!" came the frightened plea. "Look away, I beg thee!"

The Forsworn looked from their Keeper back to Tala, some of them gripping their blades, but all of them hesitating from interfering with _whoever_ it was that had brought their Keeper to her knees.

Finally, Tala blinked, breaking eye contact with the Raven Mother. The Hagraven threw herself forward, and prostrated herself on the floor, the rest of the Forsworn following her example. Tala looked around the room, and then back towards the bowing figure.

"Send your messengers, Melka."

Melka stood to her feet and nodded. Several of the fur-clad figures darted from the room, bound for various camps and hideouts of the Forsworn.

"My lady," Icando murmured, approaching his queen. "Day approaches. If we do not wish to spend it here, we must move quickly to rejoin Movarth and Nestor."

"Don't worry, general," Potema answered, but placing a reassuring hand on the Dunmer's shoulder. "They will have secured their objective by now."

* * *

 ***SANUARACH MINE*  
KATHWASTEN  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

Serana leaned against the wall as the wooden doors were barred from the inside, keeping out the breaking light of dawn just creeping over the distant mountains. She looked around at the various vampires who filled the underground space, taking their rest. Several of them were still feeding on the Silver-Blood mercenaries who had been tasked with defending the town.

"Vampires and Werewolves…" she marveled, shaking her head at the irony, "hiding in a silver mine."

Skoberth Black-Song appeared next to her, passing her a goblet of blood.

"This is the very last place they will even think to look," the former bard said.

"Then why did the Queen allow the miners to go free?" Serana asked. "They will bring the local king's…"

"Jarl's," corrected Skoberth.

"... _soldiers_ down on us," Serana continued, but nodding to acknowledge the correction. The big Nord had given her several volumes entitled 'A Brief History of the Empire,' which she had perused in her spare time. It wasn't much, but it had helped her get a better grasp on the politics of this world.

"The miners were released because they were told to tell the Jarl that the Forsworn had attacked Karthwasten," explained Skoberth. "And the Jarl and the others will readily believe it. Yes, soldiers will be sent, but only enough to drive off a Forsworn raiding party. Between those gathered here and in Fenn's Gulch Mine just across the way, they'll be hopelessly outnumbered. And our little army will grow apace."

"Or at least be _fed_ apace," Serana shrugged, looking at the scene around her.

"Our queen is wise," Skoberth nodded, "Either way, we profit by it."

"Which queen do you mean?" Serana asked shrewdly. "Tala, or Potema?"

"Yes," the Nordic bard answered non-committedly, grinning.

"Skoberth! Lady Serana!" Elfridda called, coming around the corner. "Oh, there you are."

"What news?" Skoberth asked, rising to his feet.

"The Queen has requested your presence. Her Council gathers below."

Serana sighed, but followed the other two down to a table near the bottom of the mine, around which were gathered Tala and the vampire coven leaders: Movarth, Icando Damn-Rune, and Nestor Constantius. Also present was Helmmir War-Raed, the leader of the army's werewolves. The giant Nord wore a loincloth and nothing else.

 _Probably the easiest when shifting back and forth_ , thought Serana. Her father's coven summoned hellhounds to support their efforts. She had had little contact with werewolves before her long slumber. Helmmir was pointing out positions on the map.

"My wolves have another Standing Stone, Milady," he reported. "The Lover Stone stands here, east of Markarth and north of Kolskeggr Mine."

"That might be useful for you, my queen," Icando cut in. "Per the ancient texts, it has been known to grant wisdom to the travelers who claim its blessings."

"After seeing what you did to the Lord's Stone, my queen," Movarth shook his head, "Who knows _what_ would be its effect on you?"

"I say without fear of flattery, that those were my most powerful spells, your Majesty," Nestor said, bowing slightly. "They reverberated off you without your even _thinking_ of it. I have never seen anything like it."

"Not even the _Dragonborn_ has such an effect on the Standing Stones," Skoberth added as they approached the table.

Tala held up her hand, and her eyes shifted from their usual emerald to icy blue-white. "We will investigate them all in due time, but that is not the reason I have called you together. But we do thank you for your diligence, my Lord Wolf."

Helmmir beamed and bowed low.

"You two! You may approach."

Two vampires, a man and a woman, arose from the bench where they had been sitting, and took two paces forward, then took a knee. They were not dressed as the other vampires of the various covens that had joined them, nor were they even armed, as far as Serana could see.

"Your names?" Potema asked, stepping forward.

"My lady," the male said, raising his head only slightly. "I am Hern, of Half-Moon Mill, in Falkreath. This is my wife, Hert."

The female also raised her head, but only slightly.

"You are both Volkihar vampires, by the look of you," Potema observed.

Serana arched her eyebrows. Now that she took another look, she did notice that they had the grey-green skin of the vampires in her father's coven, and the pure red eyes as well. But she didn't recognize either of them. Not that she would've: she doubted any of the old coven were still alive, given how quick the inter-coven political turnover was, even in her time.

"Yes, my lady," Hern acknowledged, "My maker _was_ Orthjolf of the Volkihar coven, but I… left their company, long ago."

"They _betrayed him_ , and left him to die!" snarled Hert, but her husband gave her a look that silenced her.

"And why do you come before me, Hert and Hern Half-Moon?" asked Potema.

"We bring word from Jarl Vighar," Hern informed her, "of the Bloodlet Throne Coven."

Potema's eyes widened, and her brows raised.

"Vighar was one of my generals, in the War of the Red Diamond," she said. "I am pleased beyond words to learn he still lives!"

"He is our master, and we bear his message, my queen," Hert replied graciously.

"What message?" Icando asked impatiently.

"He desires to know where and when you would command his sword, as you did of old," replied Hern. "He can bring twenty blades, even to the Underworld, if need be."

The other vampires murmured in surprise. Skoberth leaned over to Serana.

"Vighar hasn't moved out of his coven in almost three centuries," he explained. "He has answered to _no one_ , not even your father."

"And yet he comes even _before_ his mistress calls," Serana mused. "Intriguing."

Such was the charisma and power of the Wolf Queen. But even more than that, Serana was curious about the young woman to whom she was bound. Who was this Tala, that even ancient hagravens bowed in fear and shock at her feet? She said she was neither Redguard, Breton, Imperial, or Nord.

 _So, where did she come from?_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, more developments on the side of Tala/Potema and their Army of the Outcast. Hope you guys enjoy it, but let me know what you think! Any review, even if it's just "Good Job, I liked it," is appreciated!**

 **Also, i realize didn't respond to everyone's review of Chapter 7, but from here on out, I'll do my best to answer them below!**

 **Thanks, everyone!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Malhavoc Shadowlord - Thanks! Glad to be back! I love this story because there's so many possibilities in Skyrim for somebody who doesn't mind being a bit of a baddie... :P So yes, it will be really interesting to see the Soul Cairn and how that is handled. I will say though, that I don't intend on her interfering with the Solstheim "Dragonborn" storyline. That's why the Dragonborn is not in Skyrim currently (which suits our SI/OC fine), so Tala intends on making the most of the Dragonborn's absence.

As for the Daedra... well, they are the Daedra: Who knows?

LordCanadian - Thanks! I hope to!

JimmyHall24 - You go right ahead, my friend! ;) I make no promises.

griezz - Potema is overconfident, and that arrogance does make her lazy. And don't worry: We will be diverting from canon-Dawnguard pretty considerably!

* * *

Rock ON!


	10. Chapter 10: A Letter From a Friend

To Llewellyn Heron, Dragonborn:

I hope that J'zargo finds you in time. The _Northern Maiden_ 's runs to Solstheim are not as regular as they used to be, but I'm hoping the seal of the Arch-Mage will suffice to convince Captain Salt-Sage to make the trip.

I know you're dealing with Miraak on Solstheim, but something strange is going on here in Skyrim:

Farkas, Vilkas, and I went down into the catacombs of Solitude to get Potema's Skull and lay it to rest and we found… nothing. No vampires, no skeletons, no draugr. Her bones were removed, and each of the alcoves were empty.

A few days later, we received word that the Thalmor Embassy had been attacked. From the look of things, it looked like a Stormcloak attack (they marked the wall with 'Ulfric Lives'). But whoever attacked had taken on Thalmor mages head-on, and overpowered them. Most of the bodies were also dragged away. When we tried to track down the Stormcloak camp to investigate, we found only the scene of a massacre. Someone attacked the Thalmor, and made it look like Stormcloaks, and then attacked the Stormcloaks and tried to frame the Thalmor. Ancano has been sending messages back and forth to the Aldmeri Dominion, and swears he knows of no Thalmor plots to attack the Stormcloaks. For once, I believe him.

It gets worse: Only a few days ago, the Hall of the Vigilants was attacked, and Keeper Carcette is dead. Without the Vigilants to keep them in check, I fear the vampires and clanless wolves of Skyrim will grow emboldened. The watchers we had on Castle Volkihar swear that no vampires left the castle, but if it wasn't Harkon, then who?

It doesn't sit right with me at all. It's nothing like I remember from the games. Have you encountered anything drastically different from your memories of _Dragonborn_?

I've reached out to Karliah and Brynjolf, but they say they have heard no untoward rumors concerning vampires in their network. I have also sent word to Isran at that ruined fort of his, and he has agreed to send representatives to meet me at the College. I feel strongly that the vampires are behind all of this, but this doesn't remind me at all of _Dawnguard_ _._

Please, Lewis: come back as soon as you can. I hope and pray that I am wrong, but we may be dealing with another One. And if that is the case, we need to find him/her soon, before the timeline is damaged irrevocably.

Sarai Gellarus

Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold

P.S. – Remember: Don't trust Herma-Mora.

* * *

 **Author's Note: *WINK***

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Lord Mortem- More to come!

Pietersielie: Hmm… which of the Daedra is also known as The Woodland Man? ;) In chapter 3, we saw that Tala absorbs ALL the power from the Standing Stones whenever she touches them. The same happened to her at the Lord's Stone.

LordCanadian, METALHELLSPWN – Oblivion is some scary stuff to anybody.

JimmyHall24, Raikaguken – Don't have any plans for a pairing, as of yet. Taking suggestions, though. ;)

Malhavoc Shadowlord – (see above sections for various answers) Madanach was killed by the Dragonborn, we read in Chapter 5.

ademolix – Arrogance can definitely bite anybody in the ass…

Deadly6, CecilRedwing, Ozymandeos – Thanks so much! I really do appreciate it!

ROCK on, everybody!

-Tusken1602


	11. Chapter 11: Red Eagle's Fury

***REBEL'S CAIRN*  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

The Hagravens were gathered together on one side of the room. Every Forsworn commander from each of the camps was represented: shamans, chieftains, and here there the antlered figure of a Briarheart. Most prominent in the circle of feather- and fur-clad Reach-men was a giant Orc, easily head and shoulders above them all.

 _Borkul the Beast_. _No mistaking him._

 ** _Do you think he's king now that Madanach is dead?_**

 _Doubt it…. But I suppose anything's possible._

"You have gained the respect of Mother Melka," the big orc said as Tala and her generals approached. "This has gained you our ears. For what purpose have you asked us here, and why have you come to the Reach?"

Tala took a breath, and told her story, keeping with the story of a kidnapped Redguard, brought into a black magic spell to raise the Wolf Queen of Old. She kept the details of how _exactly_ she and Potema shared control of this body purposely vague. She was already an outsider; the less she was affiliated with a Nord, the better.

Borkul nodded as Tala brought the details of her exploits to the present day and the sack of Karthwasten.

"My scouts reported a score of Markarth Hold guards and housecarls marching for those mines," the big orc stated flatly, but the question was _just_ under the statement.

"They came to secure the silver," confirmed Tala, who then shrugged slightly. "They brought too few men."

Laughter and shouts of admiration and encouragement sounded at the news of the Nords' defeat.

"We ambushed them in the mountain passes and defeated them. None made it back to Markarth."

Borkul nodded and tugged at the beard on his chin.

 _Did he have a beard in the games? I don't remember…_

"These others may be ignorant of such things, Lady Tala, but my ancestors fought in the Imperial Legions: the name _Potema Septim_ is not unknown to me."

 _Huh. Big but NOT stupid._

 ** _She begins to learn, after all. Don't judge a book by its cover._**

"You would have us fight for a long-dead Nord bitch?"

"No, Borkul," Tala answered, swallowing Potema's anger at the insult with difficulty. If the Orsimer was surprised by her knowing his name, he did not show it. "I would have you fight for _you._ "

There was a silence which Tala took as permission to continue.

"With my strength added unto your own, we can take the City of Markarth. I need only a place of refuge for my vampires. The undercity of Nchuand-Zel is overrun with Falmer and the beasts of the dark. But we would have no need to fear such.'

A murmur of approval ran through the camp as the quicker-witted began to catch on. But there were too few of these, so Tala decided to make it plainly obvious:

"It secures the undercity against any underground incursion, securing the mines, from which you can get silver enough to secure weapons, food… whatever you need to ensure your people's future."

 _That_ prompted another round of discussions and whispered conferences among the Forsworn leaders before Borkul turned to talk again.

"We would need your oath that your kind would not feed upon _our_ people," he said, keeping his tone even. "We have troubles enough without worrying about _dhampir_ and _vulfwer_ carrying off our young."

The vampires and werewolves behind Potema shot to their feet, and several Reachmen rose in answer, but Tala merely raised a hand and with a single gesture, her generals resumed their seats.

"As you see, my men obey my word, and if you keep faith with me and mine, I will have no need to turn upon your people. We will be as shield-kin, guarding one another's backs in time of war. Alone, we are vulnerable, and poisoned daggers may slip under the strongest man's guard. But together, we can secure a future and a home for both of our peoples, so long in exile.

There was a murmur amongst the Reachmen, and several heads were nodding and there were more and more smiles amongst the gathered tribesmen.

 _We have them!_

 ** _Perhaps…Even the skeptical among them see that this is an opportunity that they would be fools to pass up._**

"Are you not forgetting something, Reachmen?!"

The crowd parted, and a woman in the two-piece armor of the Forsworn, complete with feathered headdress, made her way to the front. Even Borkul the Beast stood to his feet in respect.

"Kaie, hear the woman out! The plan is…"

 _Kaie… she's the woman that brings you back your gear at the end of the Escape of Cidhna Mine._

"I do not speak to the plan's wisdom or merits, Borkul, though it has both in abundance," Kaie replied firmly, but with a respectful nod of her head, both to the orc and towards Tala. "But the fact remains that each of the tribes is bound by the Ancient Law: Only the King may lead his people to war."

"She speaks Truth" shrieked one of the Hagravens from their perch on the side of the meeting place, where the old crones sat with their ears open, and their eyes shut. "She is right! It is the Law!"

A quiet gloom fell upon the room.

"And thanks to the Dragonborn _kurr_ ," Kaie and many in the room turned their heads and spat at the mention of the hero, "We have no king to lead us."

"Then let us choose one to lead us again," said a voice in back.

Kaie shook her head and laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

"And who would that be, Kalka? You? Or are there those who would follow Borkul the Beast, an Orsimer by birth?"

Murmurs of dissent now sounded throughout the square, some putting forwards a name, and others immediately shooting it down. Kaie shouted something in the Reach tongue which at least lowered the level of conversation in the crowd, then turned back to Tala.

"The fact remains, that with Madanach gone, there are none behind whom the tribes would unite," she said, a trifle apologetic.

 ** _Damn! All these blind fools lack is a leader! Maybe I could lay some sort of claim… or rather maybe you could… Trial of combat, maybe…_**

 _Potema… look at the sword Kaie holds._

 ** _What in Oblivion does… OH. Oh_** **darling** ** _, that IS an idea…_**

"Give me the sword at your belt, then, Kaie of the Reach," Tala said, extending her open hand.

Suspicien and distrust crossed the woman's face, and a hand come down to rest on the sword's hilt.

"This is the ancient sword of my people: the sword of…"

"Red Eagle, yes," Tala finished impatiently, "I am no thief, that I would steal it! I would return it to its rightful owner."

Anger flashed across Kaie's face, but she drew the blade slowly, curiousity on her face.

"And which owner would that be, Lady Tala?"

"The Reach has no king," Tala said in a loud voice, taking the ancient sword from the woman. "And none here have sufficient grounds to claim the kingship. Very well then, sons and daughters of the Reach, I give you this great gift: I will _GIVE_ the Reach a King! And you will _see_ that that gods themselves are with me and mine."

And with that, Tala spun on her heels, making her way towards the Rebel's Cairn. Sacred as the place was, not even the most feral Briarheart moved to stop her. The entire party simply moved behind her, like sheep following their leader, until they came to the ancient resting place

Tala lifted a hand and sliced open a deep cut on the honed edge. Dripping blood down the fuller of the weapon, Potema's voice intoned as the eyes shifted to show the change in control:

"Lord Red Eagle, ancient one, first and foremost among Reachmen, heed the call of your people!"

There was a quiet murmur, and the Hagraven sisters darted forward, rapping their feathered and beaded staves on the ground in a rhythmic beat, adding their own dark words to Red Eagle's Rite:

"Still we fight for freedom! Still our blades are dark with blood! Turn your gaze upon us, and grant us your blessing anew!"

Tala lifted Red Eagle's Fury high, and slid it home into the narrow opening the rock

"I renew the ancient covenant: When at last our lands are free, we shall return, your sword of victory in hand."

The opening in the rock shifted, prompting startled gasps from many in the room. Potema walked forward, the Hagravens close behind, the rest of the dumbfounded party trailing after. The passage widened into the great burial chamber of the Reach's hero, with a single sarcophagus on the far end, surrounded by skeletons. Potema raised both hands now, channeling all her considerable necromantic power in her hands:

"Then arise, O great one, from your honored tomb! Reclaim thy stolen throne! Rule over thy people, High Lord of the Reach, forevermore!"

With a _crack!_ and a _BOOM_ the lid of the ancient coffin shifted and fell, broken in two. Then, an arm lifted from the tomb. Instinctively, the Forsworn in the room bent their knees, heads bowed. The Hagravens, on the other hand, were chanting as if they wanted to bring the mountain down on top of them.

Faolan, or Red Eagle, in the Common Tongue, rose from his tomb, dried and desiccated flesh drawn over haggard bones. Then the jaw of the nearly exposed skull lowered, and a voice rasped, coming from nowhere and _everywhere_ at the same time:

"ARISE, Reach-born. Arise, and march to WAR!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So… now we have yet another arrow in Tala's ever-expanding Quiver. All the preparations seem to be coming to a head: Werewolves, no fewer than _four_ vampire covens, a Daughter of Coldharbour, and the Wolf Queen of old. And now… a solid alliance with the Forsworn of the Reach.**

 **Where do you all see the story going from here? And what about the Dragonborn? And who is this mysterious Arch Mage of Winterhold?**

 **All excellent questions, to be answered in the future. *wink**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24 - Taken under advisement!

Pietersielie, Tech Warrior Ender, Guest – Well, we'll see where these highways lead us!

Malhavoc Shadowlord - Without saying too much, I will say that no, the other SI are NOT anyone that Tala knows.

griezz – It certainly does complicate what Tala can and cannot do. BUT remember, you've seen the note because you're the omnipotent audience. Tala has NOT read any such note.

ROCK ON!


	12. Chapter 12: The City of Stone

***MARKARTH*  
** **THE REACH  
** **SKYRIM**

The Reach-hold guards never knew what hit them. Dark figures sped from the shadows, and most were down before they could make a sound. A shout of alarm suddenly cut off in a strangled cry. A street patrol drew their blades and began to run towards the gate. Before they had gone ten paces, a towering figure of fur, teeth, and claws set upon them.

The gates were thrown open, and more dark figures came racing in. Two figures strode side by side in the midst of the panic and chaos.

"Take as many as you can alive," Red-Eagle commanded, the undead jaw waggling. "We came to capture a city, not create a ruin."

Tala reached behind and drew both of her blades.

"As you wish, your Majesty," she said, and turned to the armored figures behind her.

"You heard the king! Kill only in need!"

The party rushed forward, bone-men and draugr rushing past to get to high ground. Arrows plied the parties of the city watch that here and there attempted to make a stand.

 _Gods, this is MUCH bigger than the game_ , thought Tala. _The game only has about two streets, and maybe three levels of houses_.

Here, countless streets wound around towering housing rows. Here and there, groups of Forsworn were trying to force a door, or storming into a house and emerging with armfuls of loot. Tala seized one of these and shoved the figure further down the street.

"Leave the houses!"

Her voice rose high above the noise of the conflict.

"Make for the Keep!"

The cry was taken up by one group after another, burdened with a tone of authority and certainty:

"MAKE FOR THE KEEP!"

"People of Markarth!" Tala called as her party strode down the stone ways, upwards to the Jarl's great hall. "Stay in your homes and none will be harmed!"

There was one house, however, where she and her vampires threw themselves into the fray to lend a hand to their Forsworn allies.

* * *

"Skyrim for the Nords!" shouted Thongvar Silver-Blood, wielding his double-handed Battleaxe and laying two Forsworn low. Suddenly, the slip of a girl in front of him lashed out with a kick, and he found himself flying through air, slamming hard against the wall of the Treasury House. Stunned, he looked up to see the dark-skinned woman slash twice, and Yngvar and Reburrus went down, both vainly clutching their throats.

To his right, he saw his brother Thonar go down beneath a Foresworn club. He gripped the battleaxe, determined to at the very least sell his own life dearly. Then a cold chill passed over him, and the dagger was withdrawn from his ribs.

Serana grinned and cast a raising spell at the big Nord she'd just felled. The towering figure now rose, with jerky, fumbling movements. Elsewhere, several vampcromancers were doing the same, raising the bodies of the slain to fight those who still lived. While the lurching undead figures were not great fighters individually, the blow was to the enemy's morale more than anything else. Now they had to fight foes that still bore the faces of their friends and kinsmen.

* * *

 ***UNDERSTONE KEEP***

"They're past the gate, my lord," the breathless Legate Emmanuel Admand wheezed, leaning on his shield. "We tried to seal the doors, but two of the Thalmor soldiers suddenly slew the guards there and threw open the gates."

Igmund remembered them as part of the detachment of Thalmor that had come into the city only the day before.

"Were their eyes red, or was that merely a trick of the torchlight?" Emmanuel asked, to no one in particular.

"My lord!"

Faleen was beside him now, handing him a shield and buckling on his armor. He reached and grasped the steel sword she extended to him, testing its weight in his hand.

"With me, my kinsmen!" he bellowed, "For the Reach!"

Tired and ragged survivors of the attacker's first offensive got to their feet, inspired by their jarl's example. Tired and exhausted hands caught up their weapons again, and stood side by side again in the _skjoldveggen,_ the shield-wall.

The barricade erected by the guards came crashing down, and first through gap came a group of creaking skeletons and ancient draugr. Whispered prayers and shouted oaths rang through the ranks of the Nords and the battle was joined. The draugr in the lead was clad in Forsworn armor, but wielded an ancient shield that bore the sigil of Markarth.

 _The Shield of Hrolfdir_ , Faleen thought in recognition. _Stolen by the Forsworn several years ago._

The scream of rage to her right let her know that her lord had recognized the shield as well, and Igmund Hrolfdirson, Jarl of Markarth and Lord of the Mournful Throne, sprang from the safety of the shield wall, crossing blades with the undead abomination.

"Protect the Jarl!" she called out, cursing his recklessness in the same breath.

The soldiers and the guards from the Dwemer Museum pressed forward to try and protect their lord, but now more and more foes were pouring through the breached gate, and these were not so easily dispatched as bone-men or undead thralls. Fallen cut down a Forsworn raider, and turned just in time to see Igmund cleave the Forsworn draugr nearly from shoulder to breastbone. His roar of triumph was premature, as the draugr, rather than crumple and fall as any mortal would, drove his own blade upward, beneath the breastplate of the Lord of Markarth.

"NO!" Faleen screamed, driving for her lord with a battle-fury that further demonstrated how she earned her place as the personal housecarl to the Jarl. But then another dark figure blocked her path, brandishing two swords.

 _Too dark to be one of these damned Bretons… another Redguard?_

The girl looked to be almost fifteen years Faleen's junior, but blocked the veteran shieldmaiden's attacks nearly effortlessly, and Faleen was hard-pressed to withstand the powerful blows she gave in return.

 _Gods… how the…?_

Before her unspoken question could even be completed, the air around her seemed to chill as the girl drew a deep breath. Faleen had felt such an effect only two other times in her life:

The first was when the young Ulfric Stormcloak had sent the ranks of the Forsworn flying back in confusion, at the gates of Markarth, so many years ago, now.

The second was when the young man they would later come to know as Llewellyn Dragonborn sent Madanach, the King in Rags, hurling off the steps of the Keep to his death several stories below.

 _The Voice…._

" _ **FUS RO DAH!"**_

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER***

The ancient and battered form of Faolan Red-Eagle leaned back upon the Mournful Throne. The Jarl's blow had cut the withered body nearly in half, and only through the efforts of the Hagravens gathered around him was his soul still clinging to his body.

"My children," the mouthless voice spoke, filling the Throne Room of the Understone Keep, "my spirit remains strong, but this frail prison of flesh fails."

Borkul shoved his way forward.

"My lord," the big orc said, and his voice cracked, "Perhaps the Hagravens…or the Lady Tala…"

Red-Eagle's hand lifted, and the orc's words were choked back.

"Magic is not a crutch for the weak to lean upon. And Death cannot be postponed forever, strong Borkul."

The unblinking gaze of the ancient Forsworn King turned back to the gathered crowd.

"I have returned to do what I promised: to set my people free, and to see them established in the home of their ancestors. My time has come and past, long ago."

"My lord!" shouted Kaie, taking her place beside the orc at the foot of the throne. "We are a people of glen and valley, not streets and stones. We have not ruled ourselves for so long… More than ever, we _need_ a king to lead us."

"Fear not, valiant Kaie," the voice mollified. "I will not leave my children leaderless or in want. Tala Niwot, step forward!"

Looking almost surprised, the dark figure of Lady Tala stepped forward, her vampire and werewolf commanders just behind her.

"You have shed your blood to raise me," Red-Eagle continued, "and to raise the spirit of the people of the Reach. Where once there were divided tribes, squabbling for bones and the scraps of the land, there is now a proud people, united and strong. You are not of the Reach-born by blood, but you are of our people in spirit and in truth."

With a monumental effort, the ancient form stood to its feet.

"Kneel, Reach-daughter."

Tala knelt, placing her hands between Red-Eagles' own.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of the Reach according to the Old Ways, and the Old Gods?"

The young girl's answer was loud and clear, ringing true in the hearts of all who heard it:

"I solemnly promise so to do."

"Will you to your power cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all your judgements?"

"I will."

"Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of the Reach, to protect and preserve the people of the same?"

Tala's hands left Red-Eagles', and crossed on her chest.

"The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep: So witness earth. So witness sky. "

Red-Eagle turned to the crowd of onlookers.

"My children! Will you pledge your metal to Tala Niwot, to guard her back in war, and keep her laws in peace?"

The Forsworn drew the blades, lifting their bone spears, swords, and axes high.

"HAIL! "they cried, as one. "HAIL!"

"Then know that she rules in my name, until such time as all are gathered unto the Final Calling and Nirn's End."

With one last effort, the ancient frame took two steps before the Mournful throne. Tala stood beside him, and drew her blade.

"REACH-BORN! WHO IS YOUR KING?"

"FAOLAN!" came the almost frenzied cries. "FAOLAN!"

The Red Eagle stood with arms outstretched, and then slowly, starting at the fingertips, the ancient frame corroded to dust, the ancient armor clattering to the stone dais before the Mournful Throne. Many of the Forsworn were openly weeping, either tears of joy at the restoration of their home, or the passing of their god-king.

Tala slowly regained her feet, and bent her head in solemn reverence.

"Go unto thy rest, Faolan of the Reach, Lord Red Eagle," she intoned softly. Then she turned to the Hagravens at the foot of the stairs.

"Collect his ashes, good Mothers, and lay them to rest in his tomb."

She picked up the sword from the pile of ashes, turned , and presented Melka with Red Eagle's Fury.

"Seal him in, and let him rest, until the Final Dread Days."

Melka took the ancient sword in her taloned hands, clutching it to her breast as the others collected the ashes in an urn that one of them had produced, no doubt stolen from some room in the Understone Keep. The entire party stood with quiet, bowed heads as the ashes were collected and borne with honor from the keep, bound for Rebel's Cairn. Then slowly, Tala walked and stood in front of the Mournful Throne.

"I am Tala Niwot, and by right of blade, and the word and will of Faolan, known as Red Eagle, I claim the crown of the Reach, and the lordship of the Mournful Throne. Are there any here that would dispute this claim? Let them speak now, and answer with sword and axe, rather than speak bitter words and harsh whispers behind locked doors, as the _Nordhi_ do."

None moved in answer to the challenge. Slowly, yet deliberately, Tala sat down upon the stone throne, overlooking the crowded throne room. Tala nodded, and her next words were filled with authority that _would_ not be denied.

"Lord Vighar."

A bearded man with long grey hair, clad in a suit of heavy Dwarven armor, took several stiff steps forward.

"My queen?"

"Dawn approaches, old friend," Tala said, gesturing to the open doors of the Understone Keep. "Bring our people into the Keep. Secure the depths of the Dwemer Museum and Nchuand-Zel."

The old man bowed low, bringing an arm across his chest.

"It will be done, my Queen."

Movarth and Nestor bowed and followed after the one-time Jarl of Falkreath. Icando began to follow, but a slight gesture from Tala made him wait.

"Borkul," the queen continued.

The big orc stepped forward.

"Secure the gates, and the city. I will honor the command of Faolan Red-Eagle: None of this city's inhabitants are to be harmed, unless they raise blade against our people."

The orc paused for a moment, then copied Vighar's gesture.

"My queen."

"Lady Kaie?"

The woman paused from following the orc, and looked back at the throne. Something like guarded suspicion was still on her face.

"Go in haste to Cidhna Mine," ordered Tala. "Free those of our kinsmen that you find there. No man, woman, or child of the Reach will be in chains after tonight."

Understand dawned on the Reach-woman, and she too saluted.

"As you command."

"Icando Damn-Rune."

The Dunmer vampire bowed low.

"Secure the prisoners in the cells in the Warrens. If there are any inhabitants there, find them accommodation elsewhere. There will be no beggars in Markarth anymore."

The bow deepened.

"As you command, my queen."

He was the last to leave, the others following the various commanders on whatever task they fancied the most. Tala leaned back, and suddenly her eyes flashed a bright and brilliant blue.

 _ **FINALLY! I thought I'd go MAD animating that rotten corpse.**_

 _It served its purpose._

 _ **Yes, I thought I was rather convincing, didn't you? All that rot about justice and mercy and the Old Ones?**_

 _And yet, I swore to uphold those principles._

 _ **Oh, dearie, I don't think Faolan is in any place to complain over a few broken promises.**_

 _But you had me make them in front of witnesses, who WILL remember and complain if they are broken. We're bound to them now._

 _ **For now, perhaps. Well, I think this has been an**_ **exceptionally** _ **profitable experiment. We've discovered that I CAN in fact possess another body, for instance.**_

 _And yet the whole time you were puppeteering that corpse, we were still bound together, Wolf-Queen. We're a long way from getting the privacy of our thoughts back._

 _ **One thing at a time, darling. Ahh, it feels**_ **GOOD** _ **to sit on a throne again. Even if it is made of stone. Maybe we can add at least some cushions or upholstery? Dear Daedra, it's dreary in here. Typical man, that Igmund. No thought of décor or the proper use of space.**_

 _I'm sure we can redo the entire interior design at a later date._

 _ **Just planning for the long-term, dearie. It's what a Queen does.**_

Tala stood and walked down the halls of the Understone Keep. In the game, she thought she remembered the place as being more ruinous. Here, the halls and the archways had been repaired and restored, much as was possible with the Nords' skill of stonework.

As the hallway opened, Tala recognized the passageway to the Hall of the Dead. And there, standing in front of Calcelmo's Enchanting table, was Serana. Tala strode over, her feet brushing the stone floor of the keep.

"Rocks and valley, crevices and hiding places," Serana said in a low tone as she approached. "This is the kind of place where hermits and fanatics dwell."

"I'm sorry we haven't had much time to talk," Tala said gently. She turned and began half-heartedly perusing the various scrolls and books Markarth's Court wizard had collected.

"The land here seems… twisted," Serana continued, still not looking at the darker-skinned girl. "I'm surprised my father didn't want to live here."

"Force of habit, probably," Tala answered, trying to keep her tone light. "It's hard to leave one's ancestral castle."

Serana made no reply.

"I know what you went through as a daughter of Coldharbour," Tala began.

 _That_ caused Serana to whirl and glare at her.

"You really have _no idea_."

"I did _NOT_ say I understood what you went through, merely that I _know_ ," Tala clarified. Serana blinked, but her glare became slightly less murderous. Tala turned to face the daughter of Harkon Volkihar.

"My father was a worthless drunk, who didn't raise a finger to help my mother as she worked herself to death to make a future for my brother and I. So yes, I do know what it is to be forgotten by a father, and neglected by a well-meaning mother."

Serana took a step back, shock coming across her face.

"Lost in the middle of a war of the people who are supposed to love you," she said softly.

Tala nodded.

"Your father was drunk on ale," Serana continued, "Mine was drunk on power."

"Both of which are easily addictive, and serve to take away their share of pain."

"Is that wat you intend to do here?" Serana asked, gesturing to the space around them, where distant sounds of combat still filtering through the stone halls. "Gain power to take away your pain?"

Tala smiled, and shook her head.

"Just like ale, the effect lasts only a little while. And then you must reach for another bottle, and your father must reach for yet _more_ power."

Serana arched an eyebrow, and turned away, fiddling with the runes on the table.

"Perhaps you _do_ understand, after all. I… I spoke hastily before."

"No offense taken."

A crowd of fighters passed, both Forsworn and vampire, led by a fully- _woged_ werewolf.

"This alliance will be difficult to maintain," Serana observed, nodding towards the group. "Now your followers will see each other as the enemy, and the political manipulations will begin."

Tala said nothing, merely nodding in reply. Serana's face grew grim as she continued:

"My father encouraged it, even fomented it when he thought his vassals were getting along _too_ well."

"I have no desire to rule over a broken kingdom," Tala answered. "Each of them will serve a purpose, and have a role to play in this kingdom of outcasts."

"Outcasts," Serana mused. "Outcasts and misfits. The forgotten and the forsworn. Quite the collection you've amassed."

"You are _not_ something to collect," Tala said quickly, guessing Serana's train of thought. "I will not keep you here against your will, but I dearly hope that you will stay. I need someone who's… who's seen the consequence of misrule. Someone to keep me honest."

Serana looked down on the floor for a long while, but then cast a sideways glance at the younger woman.

"It is said that the Reman Emperors of the Second Age employed a servant to stand behind them at all times. His only job was to lean forward and whisper to his master…"

"Remember, you are but a man," Tala said with her, and the two shared a chuckle in the now-quiet stone hall.

"I doubt many kings have such a servant today," smiled Serana.

"I have no need for such a servant," Tala answered.

Serana swallowed and began to walk away, but Tala caught her hand in hers. There was a slight gasp at the unexpected contact, and red eyes gazed into emerald ones.

"But a _great_ need for such a friend."

Tala squeezed the cold hand in her own. The two stood there for just a moment before the undead hand squeezed back.

"Then I think I'll stay… for now; See what I can do."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **AND THERE IT IS! Markarth is ours! The first blow in a war that will send the political status quo reeling! And Tala Niwot of Wyoming is now Queen of the Reach, with an army of vampires and werewolves to boot!**

 **And on top of all that, Serana begins to wonder if there might be something more to this dark-skinned woman who brought her back into this world.**

 **The next several chapters will be Tala securing her powerbase in the west, as well as some reactions from several other characters.**

 **Let me know your thoughts, your dreams, your criticisms, and where you think this story might be going! Or how you think this is going to affect the rest of Skyrim, and the Empire in general!**

 **Thanks, everybody!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24 – He wasn't brought back full human because he wasn't brought back fully at all… but the body was needed to get the Forsworn on their side.

griezz – All of these are excellent questions that will be answered soon, I promise. But I WILL answer this one: Barbas could smell Oblivion on Tala because she had JUST come through from the other side. Stick around long enough, and it will become less glaringly obvious.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – Bleackreach would be the logical stronghold for an army of sun-fearing vampires, yes. But Tala also has other plans and other agendas, as well as preparing to defend the Reach against any counterattack by the other Jarls or the Legion.

METALHELLSPWN – Yep, it's gonna get messy in Skyrim, I can confirm that much! :D

Pietersielie - :D Thanks! Hope to update the next chapter soon!

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!


	13. Chapter 13: Holding Court

***MARKARTH*  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

The population of Markarth were gathered together, lining the main thoroughfare that led up to the gates of the Understone Keep. Most had stayed hidden in their homes for the past few days, fearful of the bloody vengeance the Forsworn would wreak upon the Nordic city. But the next morning came, and went, as did the day, and no more screaming was heard, or the sounds of battle. Armored soldiers, bearing the sigil of what looked like a wolf on their shields, took their places on street corners, not disturbing the citizens, and instead preventing more looting and violence in the city. The wolf on the shield was definitely a symbol to strike fear in the beholder, with jaws agape and snarling, and a figure of what looked like a great eye directly in the middle of the beast's forehead.

The day was sunny and clear, which was rare enough for the region. All too often, the cold mountain winds met the warm breezes coming from the plains of Whiterun resulted in the valleys and glens being bathed in thick and heavy clouds and misting rain. But now, beneath the open air, a chair had been set up beneath an open-sided pavilion. And the dark-skinned woman who exited the Understone Keep strode forth, clad in fine robes, but still sporting twin swords on her hips.

"HAIL QUEEN TALA! HAIL HER WITH GREAT PRAISE!" came the booming cry of a chorus of her soldiers, some of whom were clad in the fur and feather armor of the Forsworn, and others were heavily shrouded with hoods and cloaks. The soldiers on the outskirts of the crowd immediately bent the knee, and the rest of the crowd uneasily followed suit. When Tala took her seat, she lifted a hand, and the crowd regained their feet. The voice that addressed them was loud and clear, even to those in the farthest outskirts of the assembled citizens of Markarth

"My children!"

The word inspired feelings of awe and majesty from all those assembled, though nobody could quite say how or why.

"We are the _Vodahmin_ – the Forgotten. I know that many of you are fearful for your families' safety. Let me put your fears at rest!"

A murmur of relief ran through the crowd.

"This is my decree and this is my word: within my kingdom, all are free to worship as they see fit. The Nine, the Daedra, the Et'Ada, the Yukadan, Shor, Talos, or even Sithis herself, or the spirits of those who came before us: as long as you live in peace with your neighbor, you shall have freedom in the Reach."

Now the murmur turned to surprise and wonderment. Such a decree was unheard of, even to the scholars among them. Each kingdom that had taken over Markarth over the ages had brought their own gods in and had used their religions as weapons to keep the population in check. To allow each citizen to follow the dictates of their own religion was… unprecedented, at the very least.

"All who dwell in Markarth are free to leave for other lands, if that is their wish. But Nord, Breton, Altmer, Orsimer, or Argonian: whatever race or blood, all are free to live here."

Shocked whispers and muttered conversations sifted through the crowd, each man and woman discussing the decree they had just witnessed with their neighbors and friends.

"Icando Damn-Rune."

The whispers ceased as a hooded Dunmer stepped forward, kneeling before the throne.

"You were first to bend the knee to your queen. By your counsel, the Forsaken and Forsworn were united. By your wisdom, I would continue to rule. I do name thee Hand of the Queen. In the absence of our royal person, you will speak with my authority, to accomplish my will and administer my justice."

Icando seemed to start in surprise at the announcement, but then he bowed his head, touching his forehead to the pavement before looking back up at the seated woman.

"You honor me, my queen."

Tala gestured to her left, and Icando took his place beside his queen. The right side was occupied by another woman, clad in red, with a black hood over her head.

"Lord Vighar," the queen continued.

The vampire lord of the Bloodlet Throne came forward.

"You are the eldest and most trusted of my generals, old friend. For your long service, and your undying loyalty, I do name you Lord of the Undercity: take your coven, and what strength you require, and work to expand and secure the Blackreach."

A grin broke across the face of the ancient Nord, replacing the expression of slight displeasure that had been in response to the Queen's Hand appointment. .

"The extent and limit of your authority will be determined by your blade and shield," Tala instructed. "Nchuand-Zel will now be a haven for the living dead who bend their knee to the Mournful Throne, and abide by its laws."

The vampire lord bowed stiffly, but with an air of absolute respect.

"Your will, my queen. We shall see it done."

Tala nodded and gave the one-time Jarl of Falkreath a beaming smile.

"Borkul the Beast, and Movarth Piquine."

The Forsworn Orc and the former Fighters' Guild member stepped forward, eyeing each other with no small degree of suspicion before turning to face the enthroned figure.

"I name both of you Lord Commanders of the Reach. The defense of the Reach's glens and peoples falls to my two most valiant and stalwart commanders."

Understanding crossed the two warriors' faces, followed by satisfied grins.

"Borkul, my first command to _you_ is thus: hunt down those who still fly the banner of the Stormcloaks. Tear down their camps and bring as many as you can take alive to the Undercity. They will serve their Queen and her Host."

Borkul reached back, pulling a bone-toothed sword from his back.

"My Queen," the Orsimer bellowed, "It will be my _distinct_ pleasure!"

Then he slammed his fist against his chest; a salute his queen returned.

"Movarth."

"My queen?"

"In the south of our lands, Fort Sungard sits with an Imperial garrison. I wish for my banner to fly over its walls within the fortnight."

"My queen," Movarth promised, "It will be yours before tomorrow's sun has set."

Tala nodded in acknowledgement and turned to the woman in the first rank of her self-appointed guards.

"Lady Kaie."

The Forsworn woman started in surprise at being called, but stepped forward, collecting herself.

"It is our pleasure to name you Steward of Markarth. All disputes of the city, and the running of Cidhna Mine, will answer to you first and foremost. However, the cases of the High Law, of life and death, you will bring to attention of Lord Damn-Rune."

"My Queen," stammered Kaie, "I… I am not worthy…"

"You served Madanach long and faithfully," Tala interrupted. "Such loyalty _must_ be rewarded. And I would trust none other to administer justice to the Reach-born fairly and equally."

Kaie took both hand and crossed them over her chest, dropping to a knee.

"I… will endeavor to be worthy of this trust… my queen."

Other commanders were called forward, to be made commanders and guardians of various camps or strongholds of the Reach.

Helmmir was named Lord of the Hunt, and instructed to send messengers out to clanless wolves who wander the wilds of Skyrim.

"All have a home in the City of Stone," the queen insisted, again giving that grin that would melt the hardest heart of stone as the werewolf commander only stuttered thanks and acknowledgment.

Other Forsworn were called forward. Most of these were _already_ clan chiefs of their various locations, but now they bent the knee and affirmed that they held their authority directly from their Queen. Karthspire, Red Eagle Redoubt, Deepwood, Hag Rock, and all the rest of the Forsworn strongholds: they all bent the knee and swore their loyalty to Queen Tala of the _Vodahmin_.

"Now," Tala said, leaning back as the last of these retook their places in the ranks of the soldiers, "Bring those who would have their Queen's Justice!"

The first to be dragged onto the dais before the entire city was the bloody and battered form of Thonar Silver-Blood. Kaie drew herself up tall before the kneeling prisoner.

"This _Nordhi_ ordered the death of Madanach, after entering into an oath of friendship with him, and after the King in Rags had eliminated his enemies and rivals in the City of Stone. The _bastard_ Dragonborn may have killed Madanach, but it was Thonar Silver-Blood who ordered it."

Angry growls came from the gathered Forsworn, and hands gripped weapons tightly.

"Are there any others who would bring grievance against this man?" Tala called out to the assembled crowd.

"I would!"

A balding man shoved his way to the front.

"This man did force the sale of Sanuarach Mine, against my will, upon threat of death, and the death of my children. My miners' freedom was taken away from them, and they were forced to work without pay or the necessities of life!"

"His name is Ainethach, my lady," whispered Icando. "He _was_ a resident of Karthwasten."

Tala made a gesture of acknowledge that conveyed an equal amount of gratitude.

"Any others?"

Others stepped forward: Forsworn whose kinsmen had been worked to death in Cidhna Mine, other townspeople who had suffered some injustice at his hands. Thonar's expression of defiance never wavered, even as Tala passed down the sentence of death.

"But your life is not mine to take," Tala said, "Rhiada, step forward."

The young servant girl from the Treasury House stepped forward, looking positively out of place in a circle of warriors.

"By this man's orders, your beloved husband Eltys was put to the sword, in the very Shrine of Talos," Tala continued, and suddenly a dagger was in her hand, and she was pressing it into the Treasury House receptionist's hand.

For the first time, Thonar's face went ashen grey, and his expression shifted to one of abject fear.

"Is… Is that _true?"_ hissed Rhiada, looking down at the dagger, and at the bound prisoner.

"Rhiada," implored the one-time richest man in Skyrim, "It wasn't… it wasn't _personal_ …"

There was a scream of anguish and pure fury, and the dagger fell, again and again.

"I LOVED HIM, and YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME!"

Thonar Silver Blood's death was neither quick or painless.

When the weeping girl was led away by friends, and the body had been removed, Tala turned back to one of the witnesses.

"Ainethach of Karthwasten."

The Nord turned and nervously returned to the dais.

"My… Your Majesty?"

"Return to Karthwasten with your former employees and your children, if they wish it. Resume operation of your silver mines. I name you Mayor of Karthwasten, to administer the Queen's justice to its residents, and to ensure the delivery of the mine's contents to Lady Kaie, who will give payment from the city's coffers."

As the Breton expressed his thanks, Serana leaned forward.

"The funniest part is that if you'd _asked_ him," whispered Serana, "he'd probably have said 'No.' But now you've put the lives and futures of his miners and his children in his hands, and he couldn't refuse."

"And if the Imperials return, he'll be arrested as a collaborator," Icando added.

"Wisely done," congratulated Serana. "Like it or not, now his fate is tied directly to yours."

"And the fate of his children as well," Tala grinned.

Next before the queen's dais, kneeling in the still-slick blood of Thonar Silver-Blood, were the survivors of Igmund's court. The housecarl Faleen was there, as was the steward Raerek, and two others that Tala recognized: Calcelmo and his nephew Aicantar.

"Raerek," Tala said gently, leaning forward. "You are no enemy of mine. The injustices suffered by the people of this city did not come from your hand or survive by your blind eye."

"Your Majesty!" objected Borkul, gripping a warhammer, "His nephew was a murdering bastard!"

"AND HE IS NOT his nephew," Tala retorted, with a glare that made the giant orc _wilt_ under its gaze. "Is there any here who can claim that Raerek's eyes were blinded by a bribe, or by personal favoritism? Can any claim to have received injustice at _his_ hands? Step forward, you who have been wronged by this man abusing his office!"

None moved.

"Release him."

"Your… your Majesty," Raerek protested, as men moved to cut his bonds. "While I thank you for your justice, and your mercy, that still does not wipe away the blood of my kin, and my lord. The code of my people, and my own family's honor, dictate that I must seek vengeance for his death. "

"And so say I, Lady Tala," hissed Fallen. "If you release me today, I will fight against you and yours tomorrow."

Tala raised an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth arched in a grin.

"So be it," she answered. "May my own followers witness such loyalty, and vie to match it. Yet my word stands: you have done me and mine no wrong in serving your lord, and therefore I will not shed your blood… today. Lord Commanders!"

Movarth and Borkul stepped forward.

"Escort these warriors to the borders of our land: the village of Rorikstead, and there let their bonds be cut and set them free. After that, their lives are their own to command, or to expend in war against our throne."

Then she turned her gaze on the robed court mage of Markarth.

"And you, Calcelmo?" she asked. "Will you and your nephew also take sword and spell against our person?"

The elderly mage seemed surprised that Tala knew his name, but then remembered himself.

"Your Majesty," he answered respectfully, but not cravenly or begging. "I am a scholar, not a warrior. If it truly is your will to turn Nchuand-Zel into a vampire coven…"

He cast a fearful glance at Vighar. Tala smiled at his fear, but nodded gently in answer to his question.

"…then I would ask your liege's permission to return to the College of Winterhold, both for me, and my nephew."

Tala blinked slowly, then waved her hand.

"Granted. Lord Borkul, Calcelmo and his nephew will go with your escort to Rorikstead."

Other criminals and supplicants came to Tala to plead their cases or receive their punishments. Loud cheers broke from the crowd as Mulush gro-Shugurz and his wife Urzoga were sentenced to work the mines they once overseen so cruelly. Then a woman in fur armor was brought before Tala.

"She was right where you said she would be, my queen," Helmmir reported, curling a lip in disgust at the prisoner.

Tala stared a long time at the woman before speaking.

"So, Eola," she said finally, "You are the leader of the Cult of Namira, are you not?"

Startled gasps ran through the crowd, including the prisoner.

Eola's fear soon passed, and she drew herself up proudly.

"I am a follower of Namira, yes," she reported fearlessly, then held up her bound hands.

"So now everyone can see the truth of your promises!"

A sword flashed it the light, drawing more startled gasps from the bystanders. Eola looked down at the ropes that had bound her, lying severed in twain.

"Indeed they shall," Tala hissed. "My words _stand:_ All may worship as they see fit. But the preying upon the innocent _will_ cease in my lands. The bodies of your kin are yours to dispose of as you see fit. I do not _forbid_ the Feast, but I forbid the taking of innocent life. Worship Namira if that is your wish, but the selling of human flesh in the streets of Markarth will _cease_."

And Tala leaned forward until her face was only inches away from the prisoner's.

"And I have _many_ servants who can easily discern the blood of beasts from that of humans."

Next up came Moth gro-Bagol – the former blacksmith of Understone. The orc was still bandaged from the wounds he had sustained in attack on the Keep, but his expression was fearless.

"You served in the Legion, did you not?" asked Tala. "You and your sister?"

"Yes… ma'am. 2nd Cohort, 4th Legion."

"Many indeed were the numbers of the Orsimer in the ranks of the Legion. So tell me, who is the Imperial governor of Orsimer? Who stands as Leader of the noble Orcs?"

Moth's expression turned to one of pain, and not just from his wound's aching.

"There is none," he said finally. "My people are divided, leaderless, and in exile."

"None?" Tala's voice was incredulous. "But what reward did the Legions give you, after so many years of faithful service? What protection did they offer the Orcs?"

Moth grimaced and scowled, but did not shy away from the truth:

"None."

"Tell me, Moth gro-Bagol: In your eyes, is this justice?"

Moth spread his hands wide.

"What else can an Orc hope for?"

"NO!"

The queen shoot to her feet, and took the kneeling orc's face in one gentle hand.

"Stand to your feet and lift your head," she ordered, helping Moth to his feet with her own hands.

"There are no slaves in _MY_ kingdom! Only free Folk! I give you your freedom, Moth gro-Bagol, to you and your kin. You are free to leave my city, if you wish, or to remain and ply your trade. I know how to reward faithful service, and it is NOT with benign neglect."

Then the Queen of Markarth turned and reentered the Understone Keep, bringing her first day of the High Court to an end.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **We have a symbol: The Phoenix of Rebirth symbolizes the rise of the Forgotten people, arising to new life in the light of day.**

 ** _Vodahmin –_** **"Forgotten" or "Forsaken" in Thu'um.**

 **And Tala has begun to rule as a queen, and set up a kingdom unlike any other in Tamriel. But the real question is: how long can it last? Will it be torn apart from within, via petty rivalries and jealousies? Or will it be torn down by the enemies, whether it be the Legion in Solitude, or the Dominion, or the other vampire clans, who may not be willing to suffer rivals?**

 **Let me know what you guys think in the review section!**

 **Thanks, everyone!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

griezz – That is a very good point on Blackreach, but Tala and her vampires don't need to secure _all_ of Blackreach, _per se_. There are Dwemer walls and fortresses that can be occupied and repaired.

METALHELLSPWN, Pietersielie – Glad I'm capable of at least a few surprises.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – I don't think the Hagravens or Forsworn noticed it because they _wanted_ it to be Red Eagle so badly.

It will be exciting to see what the future holds, at any rate! The Soul Cairn will be interesting, especially because, don't forget, that's where Potema has been for the past 300 years.

JimmyHall24 – Flattered. But taken. ;)

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!


	14. Chapter 14: Whispered Counsels

***BREEZEHOME*  
WHITERUN  
SKYRIM**

"I need to head north," wheezed Llwellyn Dragonborn, beads of cold sweat on his brow. "…To Solitude. Tullius and the Legion will be mobilizing. They'll need…"

"Nothing from you," Lydia remarked, shoving the wounded man back down on the cushions. "You've just been to the Summit of Apocrypha, battling with Miraak and Hermaeus Mora."

"Sky Haven Temple…" Llewellyn insisted stubbornly, "and the Blades…"

Sarai Gellarus lent a hand to restrain the warrior.

"I know, I know," she soothed. "I've received word only just the morning: Vorstag made it past the Forsworn patrols. Delphine says that besides maintaining guards at Karthspire, the Forsworn have not disturbed them, or attempted to interfere with their coming and going."

"The children…"

"I sent Iona to collect them and bring them here. Jordis will come with them. They're safe, and it will do both you _and_ them good to see you."

Llewellyn leaned back with an exhausted sigh, seemingly admitting defeat. Sarai looked over at the Dragonborn's housecarl.

"Lydia… I must speak with your lord… alone."

The dark-haired woman nodded.

"I'll go see if I can disperse that rabble gathering at the front door," she replied, and turned, closing the door to the bedroom behind her. As soon as the latch clicked, Sarai put her head in her hands, rubbing her face furiously.

"How did we not see this coming, Lewis?" Sarah Geller of Los Angeles, California asked in an exhausted voice.

"Because it wasn't in the games, Sarah," Lewis Heron of Dallas, Texas answered. "I drank _every_ memory potion I had with me on Solstheim: There was no mention of a 'Tala Niwot' or the Fall of Markarth in any of my play-throughs, and _especially not_ in the Wolfskull Cave mission. Stupid, _stupid_ of me not to realize it!"

"Well," Sarah said, "In your defense, you were pretty preoccupied with the whole 'First Dragonborn' thing, and dodging cultists' knives every other day."

Lewis shook his head, seemingly unmollified.

"Even if you free Madanach in the game, nothing really changes with the Forsworn. All that happens is that he gives you a set of armor."

"And the king in Rags is dead," Sarah shrugged.

"Yes," Lewis admitted, hanging his head. "And it's all my fault."

"No," Sarah insisted. "You were _young_. You had been in Skyrim nearly 10 years. That's time enough for anyone to have forgotten their old life. You were acting as any member of the Thieves' Guild might have."

Lewis opened his mouth to answer, but another fit of coughing wracked his battered frame. Sarah put a hand behind his head, letting him down gently back against the pillow, casting another healing spell with her other hand. The damage was not so much to the outward body, though there were more broken ribs than otherwise, and the blow from Miraak's sword had nearly shattered every bone in the left arm. The real damage was harder to see: the torment of the body as a result of multiple passages through the Black Books of Apocrypha. The healing spells would speed the process only a little, but at least they served to sooth the pain. Lewis smiled thinly at the woman holding him.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

"I do," Sarah nodded. "I was star-struck by the famous Dragonborn."

"And then you took me aside and asked… asked…"

"Arena, Daggerfall, Morrowind, Oblivion... what comes next?" remembered Sarah, with another amused smile.

"I could scarcely believe it. Probably still wouldn't, if it wasn't for those memory potions of yours."

Then the smile grew grim again as the Dragonborn focused back on the here and now.

"I've sent word to Brynjolf to get in touch with Endon… if he's still alive," he said. "If he is, that at least gives us eyes and ears in Markarth."

Sarah nodded, but her expression remained worried.

"Lewis… if this is another One… we have to assume she _knows_ that he is with the Guild."

Lewis' eyes grew wide as the full ramifications of the Arch-Mage's statement hit him.

" _Sweet Nocturnal_ , then she knows… the Shrine of Molag Bol… if she's still new, she could…she might…"

"She might still be thinking of all this as a game, yes. If Calcelmo is right, she already has vampires and werewolves with her Forsworn army. She might already be in league with Hakon, for all we know."

"Pursuing the Vampire Lord questline."

"Exactly," nodded Sarah. "We have to know. That's why I'm headed there."

New levels of worry crossed the wounded man's face.

"NO! You might… you…"

"I am the Arch-Mage of Winterhold," Sarai Gellarus assuaged. "Queen Tala has sent messengers to each of the holds. Technically, I'm the emissary from Jarl Kraldar."

"But if she IS another One… she'll know that you don't belong…"

"Either way, it is a conversation that must take place. I have to warn her of the consequences of her actions. It might not be too late."

Llewellyn Dragonborn strained again, trying to sit up.

"I… I… can't…"

"Shhh…" soothed the mage. "Rest you here, Dragonborn. Recover your strength."

She cast a spell, with both of her hands now, and the Dragonborn was struck with waves of weariness, sinking back on the pillows, but not before giving an unamused glare at the mage.

"Oh… that's…. not… fair..."

Sarah smiled, then bent down and tenderly kissed the sleeping face.

"Rest now… my love."

Softly, she turned and went down the stairs, where Lydia was sitting, along with a fully-armored Dunmer woman. They both stood to their feet as the mage entered the room.

"Irileth?" Sarai asked with a distinct air of curiosity.

"Arch-Mage," the housecarl of Whiterun greeted, with a respectful half-bow, "the Jarl humbly requests your presence at Dragonsreach."

Sarai nodded.

"By all means," she replied, gesturing to the door. "Though I fear we may have to fight our way through a crowd."

"Not anymore, ma'am," Lydia answered, "Farkas, Vilkas, and a few of the other Companions arrived and made it clear that their Harbinger needed his rest."

"I've no doubt that sent even the bravest of them scampering in fear," the Arch-Mage chuckled, along with the other two women. "Lead on then, Irileth."

* * *

Jarl Balgruuf turned as the two women came up the stairs to the upper level of Dragonsreach.

"Ah," he said, nodding to his housecarl, and to the Arch-Mage. "How is he?"

"Still weak," Sarai answered, not needing any clarification. "He needs time to rest and recuperate."

"He shall have both here in Whiterun," Balgruuf replied. "Irileth, what news from the patrols?"

"The Horme bandit camps are empty."

"Empty?"

"Yes, my lord. Our patrols noticed smoke arising from the following locations."

The Dunmer woman set up small miniature tents on the map to mark the bandit camp locations.

"Halted Stream, Broken Fang, Redoran's Retreat: They have been set on fire, and abandoned. All tracks lead west, towards the Reach. We have spotted several convoys crossing the plain. Daedra worshippers, cultists, and yes, the odd vampire or werewolf."

"Farewell and bad cest to the Horme," Legate Quentin Cipius scoffed. "Delusional followers of the long-dead Septim bloodline."

The Arch-Mage started, as if suddenly remembering something. The legionnaire continued, pointing to the small fort icons on the map:

"Now that we have the Western Watchtower repaired and Fort Greymoor fully manned, we will at least have advanced warning of any enemy approach."

Balgruuf brooded over the news, then turned to the man on the other end of the table.

"Commander Caius, what is the full strength of Whiterun Hold?"

The commander of the Whiterun guard cleared his throat, but moved to stand beside his jarl, pointing to the areas in question.

"Nearly fifty of my best men were reassigned from Riverwood to Rorikstead, leaving only about a dozen men behind," he said, shifting three icons from south of Whiterun to the west. "Here in the city, we have 300 mounted cavalry, and more than twice that on foot, if we include the legionnaires under Legate Cipius."

The Legate suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

"We will defend the city, of course," he answered. "But I will need written authorization from General Tullius before I can commit imperial troops to an invasion of Markarth."

"Even so, it could be done," Caius insisted. "Our warriors are ready, and they are all veterans of the Stormcloak campaign. Those Forsworn bastards don't stand a chance against us in a straight-up fight."

"They won't _need_ to stand against us, captain," Irileth insisted, putting a black flag over another icon to the west. "Fort Sungard is fallen, and even if we were able to retake that place quickly (which would be a bloody miracle), we'd be harassed from every cave, glen, and valley before we even got within sight of the City of Stone. We'd lose half of our men, and be outnumbered and surrounded in the middle of Reach territory. We'd lose most of the other half trying to fight our way _out_ of that troll's den."

The military men squinted and stared at the map in front of them, but no one contradicted or argued with the sound military logic presented by the jarl's housecarl. Proventus Avenicci, the steward of Whiterun, cleared his throat nervously.

"I know this will generate debate," the Imperial began, glancing around the room of mostly Nords, "but the fact remains that we don't _have_ the numbers to invade directly. Not without a general mobilization from Solitude. And with Tullius' new expedition to put down Laila Law-Giver in Riften, there are few enough legionnaires to spare."

More nods went around the room.

"What do you propose then, Proventus?" Balgruuf asked.

Sarai smiled. This was why she like the Jarl of Whiterun so much: he wasn't afraid to ask for other people's opinions, and if they disagreed with his own, he would always give a fair ear to what they had to say.

"Stalling for time," the steward was answering. "This 'Queen Tala' is alone and friendless. She has the richest hold in Skyrim under her control, but no markets to which to sell the gold and silver from her mines."

"Are you suggesting we open _trade_ with her?" Irileth asked incredulously.

"Why not? Time is on our side, and until the Legion is mobilized to move against her, we can do our part to ensure that Foresworn raiding parties do not come against Rorikstead, or Whiterun itself."

 _That_ rang true, even in the ears of the seasoned military commanders. They all knew first-hand the horrors of midnight alarms raised, and of sentries' throats found cut from ear to ear, come morning's first light.

"I would not wish to leave Rorik and Jouane alone or defenseless," admitted Balgruuf uneasily.

"Well, yes, prudence alone would dictate an increase in the garrison there," Proventus continued, nodding to the Whiterun Hold commander, "but why not ensure their safety _permanently_ by sending emissaries to Markarth? At the very least, it will be a market for our grain, and Forsworn gold is just as good as Imperial gold."

"It feels… two-faced somehow," Balgruuf replied, still unsure.

"It is not an alliance, my lord," Proventus clarified, "Merely agreeing _not_ to attack one another… which we are no position to do, anyway. When the time comes, we will send her the Axe, and there will be war enough to go around."

There was a moment of silence, then Sarai came to the steward's aid:

"My lord," she said, putting her trained singer's soothing baritone voice to work, "I am already bound on an errand to Queen Tala for Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold. I would be honored to bear your words to the City of Stone at the same time."

Balgruuf looked over and gave the Arch-Mage one of his rare smiles.

"My thanks, Lady Sarai, but with all due respect, you cannot speak for Whiterun Hold. I'm sure that the Queen will have plenty to ask, and much to demand in return. Irileth, send for Hrongar."

"Do you think that's… wise, my lord?" Proventus asked in a low voice as the housecarl turned to summon the Thane.

"Sending my brother will show that I am serious in my offer," insisted Balgruuf. "And Hrongar has a good head on his shoulders. I know he'll act in Whiterun's best interests."

"Yes… my lord," the steward acknowledged, as the jarl's younger brother emerged.

"You sent for me, my jarl?" the Nord warrior asked.

"You will accompany the Arch-Mage and her party to Markarth," Balgruuf answered.

Hrongar glanced at Sarai, then back to Balgruuf.

"Of course, but may I ask: for what purpose, brother?"

Balgruuf lifted a hand, motioning his thane and brother closer.

"Come. brother," he said softly, putting an arm over his shoulder and leading him into the Jarl's private chambers. "We have much to discuss."

As the party dispersed, Irileth made her way beside the still contemplative Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold.

"When do you intend to leave, Arch-Mage?" she asked gently. "Thane Hrongar will need an escort worthy of his title and rank."

"I intended to leave this afternoon," Sarai answered, "but I suppose tomorrow at first light would do just as well. And it will save us from having to camp on the road."

Irileth nodded.

"Yes. You should spend the night in Rorikstead, and then push on for Markarth the next day. I will have horses for both our men and yours."

"No need, Irileth," protested Sarai. "There is only J'zargo, Brelyna, and Onmund with me, and our cart will bear all of us quite well enough."

Irileth tried very hard to hide her opinion of traveling in a cart from her face, and failed miserably.

"Very well," she managed, and then the housecarl turned and left the room to make the necessary preparations. Sarai turned and stared long and hard at the map, with the various pieces and flags covering the province.

 _Who are you, Tala Niwot?_

 _And what do you want here?_

* * *

" _Tala, by the gift of the gods that be, by election, by prescription, and by conquest, Queen of the Reach, Lady of the Forsworn, Keeper of the Mournful Throne, and High Mother of the Vodahmin, to Servetus Tullius (Son of Publius Tarquinius), Commander of the Imperial Legions in the Imperial Province of Skyrim, Imperator of the 9th and 12th Legions, greetings._

 _This letter comes by the hand of your faithful spy Margaret, who has outstayed her welcome in the City of Stone, and the legionnaires that survived the attacks upon Markarth and Fort Sungard. Legate Emmanuel Admand will bear witness that the wounded were afforded every comfort and treatment as became prisoners of war._

 _Regrettable as the losses sustained by the Legion have been, we do not wish for the state of war to continue to exist between our peoples. Your men have been entangled, through the poor counsel of others, in an internal struggle of the Reach. Now that the struggle has been resolved, there is no reason for the Empire to suffer any further casualties that we both know the Legion can ill-afford._

 _It is our dearest wish, general, that we be friends henceforth. Should prudence and wisdom triumph over hard-favored rage and the baser instincts of anger and vengeance, it would be our pleasure to host Imperial emissaries here at Markarth, or to send emissaries under the promise of safe-conduct to a location of your choosing._

 _A war is coming, General, against an enemy that would profit greatly by the expending of our strength and the shedding of one another's blood. If such is your wish, we can waste soldiers we cannot spare and time we do not have fighting one another, or we can unite and stand strong together when the hounds of war are let loose on our lands and people._

 _We await your word with our hands in friendship, should you act in your wisdom, or with our swords, if you choose the path of fools._

 _Tala Niwot,_

 _Queen of Vodahmin"_

* * *

 ***THE BLUE PALACE*  
** **SOLITUDE  
** **HJAAFINGAR  
** **SKYRIM**

"Well," Elisif marveled as Tullius set the rolled parchment down. "She certainly doesn't pull any political punches."

"It's an outright challenge," Bolgier Bear-claw bristled. "The bitch is _daring_ us to come and take back Markarth."

"Not just Markarth, my friend," Falk Fire-beard sighed. "With Sungard fallen, 'the bitch', as you so eloquently put it, has control of nearly the entire Reach."

"What does this… _Vodahmin_ mean?" Tullius asked.

"According to Sybille Stentor, my mage," Elisif answered, "It means, ' _Forgotten_ ' in ancient Thu'um."

"Gold, blood, and silver flow from Markarth," quoted Legate Rikke from her place at the table. "If it is to be war, we are up to the task: the new legionnaires need blooding, anyway."

"That's why most of them were sent to the Rift, to help the 9th hunt down Laila and her Stormcloak hold-outs," Captain Aldis shook his head. "The ones that remain? They're nowhere _near_ ready. Sopping milk-drinkers, the lot of them."

Margret cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to Tullius' intelligence agent.

"She says she wants no war with Skyrim," she said. "While I was awaiting her… judgement, she was sending messengers to each of the jarls, inviting them to send emissaries to her court. She says she only wants to ensure a home for the Forsworn and their kin."

"How did she even _know_ that you were an Imperial agent?" Falk asked.

"Kleppr, no doubt," Legate Admand scoffed. "The damn weasel couldn't bow and scrape low enough to the bitch. Even renamed that damned inn of his, now that his Silver Blood patrons are no longer around."

"To what?" Falk wondered.

" _The_ _Red Diamond Inn,_ sir," Margret answered. "Why, I don't know exactly."

"Taking back the Reach won't be easy," Emmanuel Admand continued, gesturing to the arm that was held in a sling. "Her soldiers are well equipped, and well-disciplined."

"And you're _positive_ that Thalmor soldiers were among their ranks?" Rikke asked.

"Exactly as I said in my report," Admand insisted. "There were definitely Altmer and Bosmer troops in her train. I have absolutely no doubt of that."

"Raerek and the rest of the survivors said the same," Elisif confirmed. "They're still here at the Blue Palace as my guests, if you wish to talk further with them."

Tullius grunted non-committedly.

"General Tullius," Rikke mused, "This could be the first strike of the Aldmeri Dominion."

"Not likely," Falk disagreed. "With this decree of religious freedom? Every ex-Stormcloak will be flocking towards the Reach for the chance to pray to Talos in peace. This 'Queen Tala' is perfectly positioned."

The Steward of Haafingar moved to the table, pointing out with a practiced campaigner's hand the various cities and provinces of Tamriel.

"She's within easy distance of Shornhelm, and the lawless northern clans of High-Rock. Most of the Forsworn can trace their lineage from that region, and still have kin there. Not to mention she can divert the gold and silver product from Markarth's mines to the city-state of Dragonstar, in Hammerfell. With Hammerfell still reeling after the Second Treaty of Stros M'kai, they are eager for allies and trading partners, and none too friendly with the Empire."

"Not after the White-Gold Concordat," nodded Rikke. "They still feel like the Emperor betrayed them."

"The treaty bought us _time_ ," Tullius insisted, albeit half-heartedly. "Time we needed to rebuild and regroup. But I'm still not certain that Hammerfell will want to alienate the Empire fully. If the Dominion attack again, they will need us 'ere the end."

"Well, one thing is certain," Aldis sighed, leaning back in his chair. "This will definitely set the Kingsmoot back."

"No," Falk insisted, "If anything, we must press for the Moot to meet sooner, rather than later. Now, more than ever, we need a High Queen to lead us, to answer this threat."

"Or High King," corrected Elisif modestly.

"Yes, of course," Falk admitted. "Or king."

Elisif smiled at her faithful and loyal steward.

"At the very least, we must have a united answer to this crisis," she agreed.

"Very well," Tullius relented. "We'll call the Kingsmoot to meet at… where do you think would be appropriate, Jarl Elisif? Here at Solitude?"

"No," Elisif corrected gently, "It must be in a neutral location, where none of the jarls will have the advantage. What about… High Hrothgar?"

"That might work," Falk Fire-beard acknowledged. "No matter what hold, the Greybeards are universally respected across Skyrim."

"Then we must send a messenger to Master Arngeir," Legate Rikke stated. "As the head of their order, he must give permission for the use of High Hrothgar."

"I will send messengers at once," Elisif said. "See to it, Fulk?"

"At once, my lady."

"Well, this is an absolute cluster…mess," Tullius corrected himself, casting an eye towards the Jarl of Solitude.

"I'm not a child, general," Elisif rolled her eyes. "I know a _clusterfuck_ when I see it."

Tullius cleared his throat and sputtered an apology while Legate Rikke smiled in amusement.

"We should reach out to Siddgeir in Falkreath," Elisif continuing, sparing the general's feelings. She moved to the map and pointed out southern-most province of Skyrim. "Balgruuf's new cavalry troops will serve to guard his western lands, and he has an Imperial garrison at Whiterun. But Falkreath has no such strength, and no such garrison."

Tullius gave Elisif one of his rare smiles. The girl still had much to learn, but she had come far from the doe-eyed beauty that was given in marriage to Torygg in a carefully-calculated political marriage. The marriage had been as short as it had been unhappy (given Torygg's sexual preferences). But now Elisif was determined to rule in her own name, and not merely on the memory of her dead husband.

 _She's a fighter_ , he thought proudly. _She'll do well as High Queen of Skyrim._

Then the moment passed, and his gaze drifted downwards to the black icon marking the location of Markarth.

 _Who are you, Tala Niwot?_

 _And what do you want?_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **What? Two chapters in two days?**

 **Just wanted to give a special 'Thank-you' to you readers, who have been so awesome and supportive.**

 **So, here's just a momentary look at what's going on around Skyrim, and the initial reactions to the Fall of Markarth. Additionally, we've also got another look at the other two OC/SI's into this world: The Dragonborn, and the Arch-Mage.**

 **What do you guys think? Are there any other people/places you'd like to see? Let me know your thoughts/suggestions in the reviews!**

 **Thanks!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Pietersielie – that will be a running question throughout this story: where does Tala Niwot end and Potema begin?

METALHELLSPWN – It will be awhile before the Dragonborn is up and about, or until the Legion can make any kind of military response. The real question is, _should_ a military response be made at all?

JimmyHall24 – _Khaleesi_ of Markarth, perhaps?

griezz, KingHoborg – That is the fate of all nations/movements: the first generation usually carries the ball, and the second generation drops it.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – The Daedra will certainly be tricky to deal with, but aren't they always? But now we have the Arch-Mage traveling to Markarth directly!

ranma hibiki – Lol, here's another chapter for you, then. Hopefully won't be too long before another one goes up. But I agree, the villain side of things can be more fun to read in stories (though harder to navigate without turning your OC into a murder-hobo).

talldrow – Thanks! I really appreciate the support!

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!


	15. Chapter 15: A Mace and A Rose

***UNDERSTONE KEEP*  
MARKARTH  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM **

Tala grabbed at a robe and wound it around herself as the door closed, giggling laughter growing more faint as bare feet raced down the stone hallways. Fury and anger was in her eyes as she spun to face the polished brass mirror.

 _What the HELL was that?_

The reflection in the mirror's eyes flashed blue, then the figure in the mirror shifted to reflect the face and body of the Wolf-Queen herself.

 **Who, Rhiada? Oh, darling, that dear girl was** _ **desperate**_ **for a loving touch, and brimming with gratitude and deeply-seated abandonment issues. As for that Whitemane girl joining in, well, what I can say? The door was open, and she was passing by… and a vampire thrall is always good to spice up a threesome.**

 _Oh, my God, please stop. I don't want to remember; I don't want to remember. I'm… I'm not even gay!_

Potema arched an eyebrow in confusion.

 **Your world is very strange. Two people are attracted to each other, and take pleasure in one another. Why must there be a word for it? And don't think I haven't noticed the way you've looked at that Serana….**

Tala was pulling on her tunic, but she whirled back to the mirror, eyes wide.

 _Wh-wh-what?_

 **Oh, come on, an actual Daughter of Coldharbour? Girl, she** _ **fucked**_ **Molag Bal himself to get those powers and those looks.** _ **Daedra**_ **, those cheekbones…**

 _ENOUGH! Just… just… STOP sleeping with everyone in Markarth! WITH MY BODY!_

 **You need sleep, not me! And it gets positively** _ **boring**_ **just watching you lie there for hours at a time. I just… took your body for a jaunt... that's all. To be completely honest, I had** _ **no**_ **intention of dragging anybody to bed when I left here.**

 _We agreed you were going to work with Nestor on the Dwemer Museum!_

Potema's expression shifted to pouting to smug satisfaction.

 **And we've made great strides in that direction: those hand-held** _ **ballistae**_ **will be handed out to our troops soon, as quickly as the blacksmiths can make them. But all work and no play is just downright** _ **dull**_ **, dear Tala. Plus, it's been…** _ **how long**_ **since that idiot man-child… Michael, was his name?**

 _I don't… I don't want to talk about this anymore._

 **Darling, going** _ **that long without**_ **will cause a girl of your age to go blind, or crazy. Maybe both.**

 _OH GOD, stop talking, please._

Tala threw open the door and emerged from the royal quarters, buckling on her sword belt. Icando stood a respectful distance down the hallway, his armor replaced with very elegant robes of state.

 _Oh, fuck, there's no way he DIDN'T see two half-naked women come running out of my room._

 **No way at all.**

"Your majesty," Icando greeted her with a slight bow, falling in step with her as she passed, "Logrolf the Willful has been brought to Markarth by Chief Mourn-claw of Hag Rock, as you requested."

 **Ahh…. It's that time.**

"Very good," Tala said aloud. "Have him brought to the Keep. I have special plans for that one."

"As your Majesty wishes."

"And wipe that smirk off your face."

"I'm sure I don't know what your Majesty speaks of."

Icando lifted an eyebrow in a questioning look.

"If I may be so bold… what does your Majesty plan on doing with an old hermit?"

"He betrayed Molag Bal," Tala explained briefly. "I intend on giving him back to him."

Both eyebrows were raised this time, and the Dunmer blinked once before continuing,

"My lady, as your Hand, all I can ask is that you not take _too_ long. You have the emissary from Hammerfell awaiting your pleasure this afternoon, as well as those from Shornhelm. I have messengers from Jehanna and Fharun coming in as well."

"And countless other supplicants are already gathered in the waiting rooms of the Keep," Serana added, joining the pair as they came around a corner.

"More like sycophants," Tala groaned.

"The burden of the crown, your majesty," Icando grinned.

Tala turned to the red-robed vampire on her left.

"Serana, do you need a job?"

Serana grinned and shook her head.

"No, thank you. Assistant Researcher of the Dwemer Museum is fine with me. There are few other tomes I found that I want to study today anyway. They might have more on this... Elder Scroll I've been carrying around for… too long."

" **You don't want to come with us to the Shrine?"**

Serana started at Potema's question and her voice shifted to cold ice:

"I've seen enough of Molag Bal to last a thousand lifetimes. I will _never_ come into the Dark Father's presence _ever_ again, unless it be against my will."

 _Like last time,_ was the unspoken ending to the sentence.

Tala nodded and Serana turned away, disappearing around another of the endless corners and hallways of the Keep. Tala turned back to her Hand, her eyes flashing to ice-blue.

 **"Icando…that… other matter?"**

Icando stepped closer and his voice lowered.

"I have every Nord ever buried in the Hall of the Dead standing guard over your shroud and your bones, my queen. No one will step foot in that hall without us knowing it."

Potema nodded and patted the Dunmer's shoulder.

" **Our thanks, brave Damn-Rune."**

The pair emerged to the main chamber of the Understone Keep, where a group of soldiers were standing around a robed elder man, tightly bound with his wrists and elbows behind him.

"Please, noble lady," he pleaded as they drew closer. "I'm just a humble traveler, bound for Solitude to visit my grandchildren when these… gentlemen…"

"I KNOW who you are, Logrolf the Willful," Tala cut him off with a venomous snarl. "And I know what you've done."

Shock and panic crossed the old man's face.

"Wh-wha-What? I don't… I don't…"

"The Lord of Damnation is not so easily cast aside, _old man_."

 _Now_ raw panic crossed the man's face, and he involuntarily started to rise to his feet, recoiling in horror. Two of the Forsworn seized him, shoving him back down to his knees.

"No! You CANNOT!"

"Gag HIM! And bring him along!"

A hood was placed over the man's face, muffling the panicked screams and pleas for mercy. The party made its way through the gates, into the main city of Markarth.

 _God, this was simpler in the game when there was one main street of Markarth._

 **Please. You couldn't have fit fifty people in that…** _ **game's**_ **… pitiful representation of Markarth.**

 _Well, it made it easier to find everything, at any rate._

If any citizens thought the sight of the Reach's queen being followed by her guards and a squirming prisoner was odd, they did not comment on the sight, or stare. The frame of an older, seemingly long-abandoned house hove into view, the windows facing the street boarded over, or bricked up. Tala seized Logrolf by the collar.

"The rest of you stay out here," she commanded the guards. _"ON NO ACCOUNT_ follow me inside."

"My lady?" Skoberth Black-Song asked.

"A Daedric Prince is inside, my friend," Tala explained. "Molag Bal might have you all fight to the death just because the thought struck him as amusing. Stand guard here and prevent anyone else from interfering."

The momentary alarm on the guards' faces was replaced with relief, then grim determination.

"Your Majesty…"

Dragging the figure of the worshipper of Boethiah, Tala kicked open the sealed door and then slammed it behind her.

" _ **WHO ENTERS MY DOMAIN?"**_

For the first time since entering Skyrim, Tala felt a _very real_ stab of pain and fear from the Wolf-Queen. But she gritted her teeth and made no answer, merely dragging Logrolf through the house down to the lower level. At the first syllable uttered by the Lord of Damnation, Lolgrolf had let loose a small whimper and gone very still and silent.

The house's layout was identical to Tala's memories of the game, right down to the tunnel delved into the mountain itself from the basement.

" _ **YES…. COME TO YOUR DEATH, LITTLE ONE. I CAN SMELL YOUR FEAR. I SENSE YOUR TREPIDATION. COME…"**_

At last, Tala came into sight of the Twisted Altar, where a rusty mace made the centerpiece of a ruined shrine.

"MOLAG BAL," she called out, casting Logrolf the Willful forward like he was a feather-weight. "I COME BEARING GIFTS…"

Logrolf landed on the trap before the shrine, the arms coming up to surround him in the Daedric cage.

" _ **FOOLISH CHILD. DID YOU THINK MOLAG BAL, THE LORD OF DAMNATION, WOULD SO EASILY REWARD YOU? WHO IS THIS, THAT I SHOULD THANK YOU?"**_

Tala strode forward, and reaching carefully through the bars, ripped the hood from the old man's face.

"If you truly do not want him," she mocked, "Then perhaps Boethiah will prove to be more gracious. Or more grateful."

" _ **LOGROLF**_ **…"**

The name was a hum of pure malice and pleasure. Logrolf, on the other hand, only cowered on the floor.

" _ **DID YOU THINK YOU COULD DESECRATE**_ **MY** _ **SHRINE, AND DESERT MY CAUSE, AND THERE WOULD BE NO CONSEQUENCES?! AT LONG LAST… YOU ARE WITHIN MY POWER."**_

 _Something_ turned its gaze on Tala's form.

" _ **YOU… MORTAL. WHAT DO YOU SEE IN FRONT OF YOU… ON THE ALTAR?"**_

"What remains of your once-glorious weapon, Lord Bal, the blood of the slain now rusting upon its edges."

" _ **YES… I GIVE YOU MY MACE, IN ALL ITS RUSTED SPITEFULNESS."**_

The stone holding the ancient weapon in place _disappeared_ , and the weapon clattered to the floor at Tala's feet.

 _ **CRUSH THE SPIRIT FROM LOGROLF'S BONES… MAKE HIM BOW TO ME!**_

"Please…" sobbed the caged man. "I don't want… to die."

 **Wasn't he** _ **much**_ **braver in your games?**

 _Much. Huh, can't have everything the same, I suppose._

Tala bent and picked up the rusted weapon. It felt heavy and awkward, with massive weight of the barbed and rusted edges casting the entire thing off-balance. She strongly suspected that, if not for the stolen power of the Steed Stone, she wouldn't have been able to pick it up at all. Tala swung the ungainly weapon down on the prostrate and still bound form of Logrolf the Willful. Bone and flesh yielded before the sheer weight of the weapon, and one leg of the old man bent at a _very_ wrong angle. The scream of pain that escaped his lips was more akin to a pig being slaughtered than a man.

"PLEASE! No more! Mercy!"

Tala swung again, and the other knee cracked and shattered.

"Boethiah! AID ME!"

Again and again the rusted weapon rose and fell. Again and again screams of agony rent the air. Until at last, an invisible hand seemed to seize the weapon, preventing the final blow from being struck.

" _ **HOLD, MORTAL!"**_

Logrolf's pitiable form writhed, more dead than alive.

" _ **YOU YIELD TO ME**_?"

"Yes."

The word was a horse whisper of excruciating pain.

" _ **YOU PLEDGE YOUR SOUL TO ME?"**_

"Yes."

" _ **YOU FORSAKE THE WEAK AND PITIFUL BOETHIAH?"**_

"Yes, Dread lord… Please…"

" _ **YOU'RE MINE NOW, LOGROLF."**_

The invisible hand released the Rusty Mace.

" _ **KILL HIM."**_

There was a momentary pause as _something_ in Tala hesitated at actually _killing_ a helpless old man.

 _ **Power,**_ **darling. Isn't this what you wanted?**

 _YES._

 **Then STRIKE, and quickly!**

The Mace rose, and fell. But this time, no scream followed the blow, only stone-cold silence. Tala turned towards the Altar.

"Lord of Vileness and Corruption: Your shrine is purified, and once again dedicated to your name. Your worshippers, your children, once scattered and hunted, from one end of Tamriel to the other, have been given a haven."

" _ **YES, YES, YOUR REWARD."**_

The massive weapon seemed to grow light as a feather in Tala's hand, and a green power coursed from the heart of the weapon, casting a dim light on the ground around her.

" _ **THE MACE OF MOLAG BAL. I GIVE YOU ITS TRUE POWER, MORTAL."**_

Tala brought a hand and placed it over her chest.

"I thank thee, Lord. This I swear before your altar: all of thy children and thy worshippers, I will give sanctuary within my lands. Your worship I will protect, and your reverence I will guarantee."

There was a moment of silence.

" _ **YOU ARE INFINITELY MORE TOLERABLE THAN MY BROTHER'S**_ **OTHER** _ **ABJECT FAILURES, TALA OF WYOMING.**_

 _ **SERVE ME WELL, AND YOU WILL SEE THAT I AM CAPABLE OF REWARDING THE FAITHFUL JUST AS I CAN PUNISH THE BLASPHEMERS.**_

 _ **NOW I HAVE A SOUL IN OBLIVION THAT NEEDS CLAIMING. TAKE CARE OF THE HOUSE WHILE I'M GONE, EH? HAHAHAHAHAHA…."**_

Laughter echoed through the chamber as the arms descended back into the floor, and magical flames burst forth around the body of the dead man, consuming him to charred dust and ashes in seconds.

 **Well… that was an experience.**

 _To say the least. What did he mean by 'my brother's other failures?'_

 **I'm not sure… Champions of other Daedric princes, perhaps?**

 _But I don't serve any other daedric princes._

 **Perhaps he is merely recognizing you as his champion, and hopes you won't fail him, like the other daedric champions have done in the past.**

 _Maybe… weird._

The guards outside the house started at the sight of their queen, covered head to toe in spattered blood and brains, emerged from the house. Tala draped the Mace over her shoulder, making a mental note to replace one of her sword scabbards with a hook and ring to transport the Mace properly.

"Skoberth."

"My queen?"

"Bring the Delarosa sisters here. Instruct them that the care of this house and the Shrine below it now falls to them."

"It will be done, my queen."

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER***

 **UNDERSTONE KEEP**

Kematu exhaled slowly as his party exited the throne room.

"I don't mind telling you, brother," Tariq said next to him, "That was one of the strangest audiences I've ever been a part of."

"True," Kematu mused, stroking the beard on his chin. "She is a woman of many mysteries, this Queen Tala."

"Did you see that mace she placed above her throne?" another of the Redguards marveled. "Satakal, it would take two ordinary men to lift that weapon. And she was carrying it one hand!"

Other began commenting on her beauty, or her vampire bodyguards, or other aspects of the strange audience, as Tariq drew closer to Kematu.

"Are you sure we didn't meet her the last time we were in Skyrim, brother?"

Kematu shook his head.

"I'd have remembered a face like hers," he smiled. "There aren't that many of our people in this frozen wasteland."

"Then how did she know about Saadia, and the Dragonborn helping us find her in Whiterun?" Tariq asked.

"It's troubling," the Redguard assassin agreed, "It means she has eyes and ears elsewhere in the other holds, not just the Reach."

"And those eyes…"

"You noticed too?"

Tariq shot him a look.

"Please brother, you'd've had to have been blind not to. Green to blue and back again! There's dark magic at work here, mark my words."

"Well, dark magic or no, the gold and silver is real enough," Kematu replied. "The terms she gave us to bring back to the Elders are more than generous. And we need this treaty if we are to be ready for war. If, that is, we don't want to go crawling back to the Imperials."

The stifled curse and sudden turn to spit from Tariq echoed his sentiments exactly.

"This queen has knowledge of things she ought not to, and is entirely ignorant of events that should have been common knowledge," Kematu continued. "She did not know the Forebears and the Crowns had come together, yet she knows of our secret forays after Altmer collaborators?"

"You're right," Tariq agreed, "It makes no sense. What do we do next?"

"We ride for Dragonstar," Kematu answered, "the terms she offered us are nearly identical to the ones she offered the ambassadors from Shornhelm, Jehanna, and Fharun. If we want to profit by this arrangement, we must move quickly."

"And what happens when history repeats itself," Tariq wondered, "And the Legions come marching back east to put down this little mountain kingdom?"

"Then the Empire should give up quite a few concessions to Hammerfell, to prevent them from marching to the aid of their trading ally, to protect Redguard Interests."

Tariq grinned. Either way, this was a win for Hammerfell. And somehow, he strongly suspected the Redguard queen had offered such generous terms for this very reason.

 _We lucked out that a Redguard would become Queen of the Reach_ , he thought. _And be so willing to offer generous terms to her homeland._

Tariq opened his mouth to say just as much when Kematu lifted a hand, pointing his chin towards a group of armored Bretons striding past them, bound for the palace they had just left.

"More of the Horme raiders," Kematu whispered as the group walked out of earshot, "Bandits paid by Andorak Septim IV of Shornhelm."

"What are they doing here?" wondered Dunay, one of the members of their entourage. "They normally prey on travelers from their camps in the foothills."

"It looks like Shornhelm has already thrown in with Markarth," Kematu mused, tugging again at the beard. "Andorak IV is always looking to cause trouble for the Empire. The Septims of Shornhelm are not likely to forget that their family once sat on the Ruby Throne."

* * *

"Are there any others?" Tala groaned, rubbing her face in decidedly non-royal manner.

Yet another group of supplicants and petitioners went on their way, having reached a compromise over Kolskeggr Mine that left both parties equally unhappy.

"There is but one more, my Lady," Icando said soothingly. "A wandering mage who seeks an audience with your majesty. I believe he wishes to peddle his trade in the city."

"Then let him join the rest of the merchants to see the Steward of the City," Tala waved dismissively. "That's the whole _purpose_ of delegating."

"He requested an audience with you, my queen, and has been waiting the past three days," Serana added from the other side of her throne. "If nothing else, he has proved most persistent."

"Oh very well," Tala sighed, settling back in her chair. "But this is the _last_ one."

Icando made a gesture to Skoberth at the foot of the steps, who stepped aside to reveal a fairly handsome man in black mages' robes.

"Sam Guevenne, my queen!" the vampiric bard announced.

At the mention of the name, Tala sat bolt upright on the Mournful Throne. The mage took the customary three steps forward and bowed low.

"Hail Queen Tala!" he said graciously, a merry and roguish lilt in his voice. "Well and merry met!"

Tala stood from the throne, shocking the guards and lookers-on of Markarth Court. Icando's hand went to the small of his back instinctively, and Skoberth brought a hand to the sword at his hip. Then, to shocked gasps of all present, the Queen of the Reach sank down to both knees, hands outstretched on either side.

"BOW, you mortals!" the queen's voiced boomed in the stone Underkeep. "Hail to Lord Sanguine, Lord of the Misty Vale! Hail the Prince of Debauchery! Hail the Master of Mirth!"

Startled whispers and stares went from the queen to the lonely mage standing in front of the dais, but slowly the gathered court followed their queen's example. The Breton mage looked around the room, seemingly as surprised as the rest of the court. Then he began to chuckle, and the chuckle grew into a full-throated laugh.

"It was the name, wasn't it?" he asked, grinning widely. "A bit too on-the-nose, no? Well, Sam Guevenne I be, **and Sanguine I AM ETERNALLY."**

With a flash of magical energy, the drab black robes fell away, as did the human appearance. In its stead stood a Dremora warrior, in bristling polished black armor. The Lord of the Misty Vale looked right and left at the startled faces, then grinned broadly.

"Oh, _Potema_ , it is so good to see you again. You have no idea how _unutterably dull_ Skyrim has been without you these five centuries…"

Tala stood to her feet, her eyes flashing from green to blue.

"Prepare the Great Hall," she called, "Bring food and wine for our guest! Declare it in the streets…"

She turned and smiled at the Daedric Lord.

"…Sanguine has come to Markarth."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **For those who are not familiar with the Horme or Shornhelm references, look up Andorak Septim in the Elder Scrolls Wiki. He was a cousin of the Septims, or more specifically: he grandson of Empress Katariah, the wife/successor to Pelagius the Mad, Potema's nephew. When the Elder Council forced him to abdicate (on account of his Dunmer blood), they offered him the city/region of Shornhelm to rule for his own, in exchange for ending the blood nine-year long civil war with his cousin Cephorus II. After Cephorus, there would only be five Emperors (including Martin Septim of the** _ **Oblivion**_ **Crisis). Afterwards, the line ended, and the Mede dynasty was founded. However, there is still an off-branch of Septims (the Lariats) ruling in Shornhelm, High Rock to this day.**

 **A lot of you were looking forward to the Arch-Mage and TalTema (shout-out to griezz for the term) meeting up. Don't worry: that's coming soon!**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24, Raikaguken, TacticianLyra– Well, at the risk of spoilers, I can confirm that there will _only_ be 3 SI's in the story, all of whom we've already met.

griezz – Don't' worry, it's not Sarah _Michelle_ Gellar. There will be no Buffy in Skyrim.

Pietersielie – You're welcome. ;)

Lord Canadian – The Legion in Hammerfell isn't named specifically in the Elder Scrolls lore… the only one named in the Great War was the 8th, sacrificed in the retreat from the Imperial City.

METALHELLSPWN – That she does, my friend. That she does. The game may end at Skyrim's borders, but this world does not.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – In securing freedom for all people, Tala has given each of her warriors, be they werewolf, vampire, or Forsworn, the same thing to lose: Freedom. Now, they will fight to keep it, whereas otherwise there'd be no way you could bring all three groups together.

themanwithpinkshorts – The Dark Brotherhood has been wiped out, I'm afraid, by the Dragonborn and the Penitus Oculatus.

Tech Warrior Ender – I try to stay out of "OP OC" territory. I'll put a toe across it, sure, but I do my best not to cross the line entirely.

Lord Mortem, Deadly6 – Thanks so much, my friends! Keep leaving your thoughts and reviews!

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!

-Tusken1602


	16. Chapter 16: Fateful Meetings

***UNDERSTONE KEEP*  
MARKARTH  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM **

Tala opened her eyes and looked around the room. She immediately considered this a mistake, as the light drove daggers into her brain, and the only thing she was aware of was the pounding sensation in her head.

 _My God, what happened last… oh, no._

An arm lay draped across her…yep, naked chest.

 _POTEMA, you bitch! What have you… Potema?_

There was no answer.

 _Potema?!_

Tala was alone in her own head, for the first time since coming to Skyrim. She was surprised to find that the first emotion she had to swallow down was… _loneliness_? She had been on her own for twenty-one years, and most of the time the Wolf-Queen's constant presence and intrusion into her thoughts had seemed at the very best of times an imposition, and at the worst of times, bordering on mental molestation.

 _What happened last night_? She wondered, and was still surprised when no answer came from the Septim Wolf-Queen. She closed her eyes, blissful darkness blotting out the searing light once again.

 _Mace of Molag Bal… remember that._

 _Redguards going back to Hammerfell…_

 _High Rock guards promising friendship and trade…_

 _SANGUINE._

The memories of the night before were hazy, blurred images that swam in her mind.

There was movement on the mattress, and Tala instinctively held the blanket to herself as the figure rolled over and…

 _Serana._

Tala's hand shot up to check her neck for bite marks, then was forced back down again with an effort. All of her romantic partners back on Earth had been men.

 _Well, more like boys_ , she admitted, _Fine, they were MALE._

She had never thought of herself as gay, and never been attracted to any of her girlfriends or female acquaintances.

 _Then again, all of my relationships HAD gone down in self-destructive spirals of legendary awkwardness or (in the case of the most-recent Michael) red-hot fury._

"Hmmmm…. Morning," Serana purred, red eyes appearing as bare slits.

Tala gulped.

"Morning," she said, much less confidently than she had planned to.

Serana's eyes shot wide open and she jerked upright on the bed, looking at the bedroom around her. This allowed Tala to confirm her suspicions that _(Yep)_ Serana was in an equal state of undress.

"What….what happened?" Serana gasped. "H-How…?"

"Been trying to remember that myself," Tala managed, trying not to overtly stare at the topless vampiress.

 _And… not succeeding._

Serana followed Tala hesitant gaze, then glanced at the bed around her.

"Did… did we…?"

"Been trying to figure that out, too," admitted Tala. "Given that we're _both_ naked in _my bedroom_ …"

"Majesty…" Serana began.

"Serana," Tala cut her off, "See the aforementioned 'naked in bed' comment. I think you can call me 'Tala' while we're behind closed doors."

Relief seemed to come across Serana's face and she slowly sank back down on the bed next to Tala.

"I… wasn't sure for a moment… who I was waking up with," the vampiress said finally. She turned and looked at the girl from Wyoming. "So… Tala? Not 'Potema'?"

Tala shook her head.

"She's... not here right now," she said, partially not wanting to admit Potema's unexplained absence, and partially not wanting to admit that this was the first time she'd been alone in the almost-six weeks she'd been in Skyrim.

"So… how does that work?" Serana asked, raising an eyebrow. "I've always wondered, but there's never really…"

"A right time to ask?" Tala finished for her.

Serana smiled with her, and nodded.

"Not always as seamlessly as I hope," Tala admitted. "We're bound together by a spell… I think. The ones who kidnapped me wanted me to supply the body for them to bind Potema to, but… the ritual was interrupted, and I didn't have my throat slit like they were planning."

Serana nodded again.

"I've never… done this before," Tala further admitted, gesturing to the space between the two women. At Serana's confused look, she continued, "I mean… not with a girl… and certainly not…with…"

Serana grinned, "A daughter of Coldharbour?" she chuckled. "It's been… a long while for me as well."

"Oh, god, am I your first since… since _…_ " Tala began, but Serana's face told her everything she needed to know. _"Oh, GOD,"_ she moaned, pulling the sheets back over her face. "I… I didn't want it to be like… like _this. I SWEAR_ , I'm going to kill Sanguine."

The sound of laughter caused her to peak back over the covers. Serana was leaning against the headboard of the bed, in a more-than-chuckle, not-quite-laughter display of merriment. Then she reached a hand over and slid behind Tala's head.

"I think that's most likely what led to this," she said.

"A Daedric prince of Wine and Debauchery?"

"No, silly girl," Serana said, and suddenly her ruby lips touched hers. Tala nearly gasped, but then the kiss continued… and _deepened_ , then finally, after what seemed an eternity, was broken. Tala heard herself make a slight whimper as she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Everyone else in my life, and I mean _everyone_ ," Serana said gently, "told me that the… Ritual… what happened… was a great honor, and how _proud_ they were of me, or how _proud_ I should be. About how my mother and I had 'secured our clan's place in Tamriel. They all looked at me pretty much like the rest of the _Vodahmin_ do: with guarded wariness, shocked awe, or lecherous smiles. They all respect _what I am_ : the chosen of Molag Bal. But you… you look at me, and I know you see… you see _who_ I am: Serana. It's… been a long time since anybody saw me… for _me_."

Serana drew close again, and Tala felt herself stiffen in response. Serana paused.

" _Gods_ , you weren't kidding about never having done this before, weren't you?"

Tala shook her head, biting her lower lip, but reached out a trembling hand and laid it on the other woman's shoulder. Serana grinned at the tender, hesitant touch, then reached up and moved the hand to her chest, shifting her other hand to do the same to Tala. Tala's eyes went wide at the unfamiliar sensation, but did not shy away.

"Can I ask you a question?" Serana asked, after the two women silently lay together for a few minutes, gently caressing.

"Um… sure."

"It might be… slightly personal…"

"Go ahead."

"How _old_ are you?"

Tala threw her head back and laughed at the question.

"Don't worry, my father won't come bursting in and kick you out," she chuckled.

"Twenty-one," Tala answered after the two laughed together for a moment.

" _Twenty-one_ ," marveled the _centuries_ -old vampire. "What… what would you have done if… if you hadn't been kidnapped and forced into a necromantic ritual?"

Tala opened her mouth to answer when suddenly there was a _whoosh_ and a portal of magical energy opened in the corner of the room. The two women rolled off the bed in opposite directions, Tala coming up with the Mace in hand and Serana charging twin spells to deal with whatever intruder was entering the room unbidden.

Before anything came into view, the sound of laughter filled the room. Tala immediately recognized one voice in particular:

 _Potema._

A white orb exited the portal, slamming with blinding speed into Tala's naked chest, causing her to stumble off-balance. Her emerald eyes shifted to a brilliant blue.

"Tala?" Serana asked, concern and worry in her voice. Tala raised her head, and Serana stiffened at the ice-blue eyes.

" **Oh, TALA, I've just had the…"** Potema's voice spoke through Tala's voice, but then looked down at herself. **"** _ **Daedra**_ **fucking Septim. Look at you, you little minx, you!"**

"My Queen," Serana said guardedly, sinking to a knee.

" **Serana!"** Potema marveled, " **My dear, I'm so very proud of the both of you! I thought you'd be** _ **months**_ **dancing around one another before one of you acted on that mutual attraction of yours."**

" **THAT WOULD BE** _ **MY**_ **DOING** , **T** hank you very much," came another voice. Sanguine, shifting once again in the guise of Sam Guevenne, stepped into the room. Serana grabbed a nearby robe, hastily slipping both arms into it, keeping her eyes lowered in respect. "No need for profuse thanks or offerings, just glad to be of service."

Serana looked from Potema to Sanguine, then bowed low.

"With your permission," she said, walking backwards towards the door closing the massive door behind her.

 _What the HELL? Where have you been?_

 **No need to get snippy, darling. Just over in the Misty Grove with my… old friend. Sanguine and I have a… working relationship from… the old days.**

"You're sure I can't convince you to _stay_ in the Vale, Pottie?" the daedric Prince asked, a playful pleading tone in his voice. "Run away with me, and leave all this dismal head-chopping and crown-chasing behind?"

Potema walked over, still in Tala's naked body, and kissed the Breton mage on the cheek before Tala could do anything to stop her. With a force of effort and will, she wrested control back from the giggling Potema, throwing on a robe from the floor while the Daedric Prince ogled shamelessly.

" **You're a sweetheart, Sam,"** the Wolf-Queen said in a lilting voice, **"But Fate has given me this chance, and I will see it through to the end."**

Sam Guevenne made an overdramatic show of being utterly crestfallen.

"Well, if you're determined to break my heart, my dear," he sighed dramatically, "the least I do after a night like _last night_ is offer a gift in return."

He walked over to the bedside table, plucking a slightly-wilted rose from the vase there. In a spectacular display of magicka, the Prince stretched the rose, pulling it to arms' length, the flower growing in proportion to the length of the stem.

"The Rose of Sanguine," Tala marveled breathlessly.

"Well, it's no Wabbajack," Sam admitted, handing the staff to Tala, "But in the time of need, it will summon at least a _little_ help. You never know. Oh, and in case you're not keen on carrying around a walking stick, just give it a twist there, in the center."

Tala did, and the staff seemed to shrink down, and Tala held a normal-sized rose in her hand (albeit one seemingly made of steel and iron).

"I… am grateful, lord," Tala said finally.

"You're very welcome **, and bEST OF LUCK TO YOU, TEMA-DEAR** ," Sanguine said, throwing an arm behind Tala's head and around her waist, pulling her in for a deep kiss. _Animalistic lust_ threatened to overwhelm the girl, and she was utterly overcome for a moment as Potema deepened both the kiss and the embrace. Then, before any objections could be made with the liberties taken, Sanguine, now looking his Dremora self, stepped back into the swirling vortex, disappearing from view.

" **AND IT WAS** _ **DELIGHTFUL**_ **TO MEET YOU, LITTLE TALA! BEST OF LUCK WITH MY BROTHER!"**

Tala stood for a moment, taking several deep breaths to try and wrap her head around what the _hell_ had just happened.

 _What the HELL did HE mean about 'my brother?'_

 **I'm not really sure. To be honest, we didn't really talk about you, much.**

 _More bloody questions and waking up with more people._

 **No, no, no: Don't put that on** _ **me**_ **. I wasn't even** _ **here.**_ **Whoever you slept with last night is** _ **all YOU.**_

 _I don't even remember what happened last night._

 **I can help with that!**

 _No, that's ok, I'm… OHMYGOD…._

The drunken blurred memories came rushing back before Tala's mind's eye, now in vivid clarity.

 _Oh MY GOD, just let me DIE now…_

 **Impressive lack of a gag reflex, though…** _ **AAaand**_ **now she's dancing…**

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER** *

Tala looked around at the circle of her advisors, gathered around one of the long tables in what had been the Dwemer Museum:

Icando Damn-Rune, Hand of the Queen,

Vighar, Lord of the Undercity,

Lady Kaie, Steward of Markarth,

Nestor, Chief of Dwemer Research,

And Serana, who was there by Tala's special request.

Not a whole lot of eye contact was being made, as Markarth was recovering from the visit from the Prince of Debauchery. Apparently, Tala and Serana were not the only ones who had awoken in less-than-familiar circumstances. Orgies of every kind, size, and taste had spontaneously taken place throughout the whole city. Already there were wild stories going around concerning goats, horses, and Hagravens, all of which were equally believable after such a night. Serana had given her a _momentary_ ghost of a smile, but otherwise made no other indication of the two's newfound familiarity.

 _Need to have a conversation with her. Get some things straight as to how we're going to deal with this._

 **You're the queen, dearie. You can do whatever you WANT. That's the WHOLE POINT of the crown…**

 _A conversation that does NOT include you, Wolf-slut._

 **See? Six weeks ago, you would never have had the courage to have such a witty comeback to me. Marvelous, what a roll in the hay can do to clear the mind and sharpen the tongue. If you know what I mean…**

 _Oh, my GOD, we're SO DONE talking about this…_

Vighar was delivering (albeit while dealing with the hangover that the entire city currently suffered from) a report on Nchuand-Zel.

"Our men have secured the Undercity," the former Jarl of Falkreath was reporting. "We encountered numerous Frost Spider web-works, as well as countless skeever dens, but these were easily dealt with. One of our scouting parties, however, also stumbled upon a small Falmer enclosure. We put most of them to the sword, or drained them, but we can't be sure that one or two of the vile creatures didn't escape to bear the news to others."

There are still other tunnels to be explored, but as of now, Nchuand-Zel is ours, as far out as the Blackreach Gate. Lord Constantine," he nodded towards Nestor, "Has been most helpful in getting the old Dwarven _ballistae_ on the walls operational again. If more Falmer come sniffing about, we'll know about it, my Queen."

"Excellent," Tala acknowledged. "On that note, you had something you wished to show us, Lord Nestor?"

The Imperial grinned, and stood to make his way over to a nearby table. Throwing off the cloth, he lifted what looked to be a crossbow. rather than the customary one arm in each direction, the weapons sported two arms going both parallel and perpendicular to the weapon.

"My queen, I present to you: The Dwemer Crossbow!"

The Imperial proceeded to demonstrate the weapon, firing _four_ bolts in rapid succession, each one held in place on each side of the central body of the Dwemer weapon. When Vighar questioned the weapon's reload time, Nestor seized the lever at the far end of the crossbow, and pulled, automatically cocking all four sides simultaneously.

"Lady Serana was most useful in translating the diagrams for this device," Nestor admitted, nodding his thanks to Serana, who gave a slight nod of her own in return.

"How long would it take to make such a weapon for _each_ of our archers?" Kaie asked, her mind already racing with the practical applications of a weapon that could fire four shots to an enemy archer's one.

"There are quite a few moving parts," Nestor explained. "But gro-Bagol believes that, as he trains more blacksmiths to make them, the rate of their making will gradually increase."

"No."

All eyes turned to Tala.

"Gather what smiths we have in Markarth," Tala explained, "And have each of them dedicated to making _one_ part of the weapon."

There were looks of confusion, then Serana smiled.

"Then have Moth and his sister oversee the _assembly_ of the weapons from the identical pieces," she said slowly. "None of the smiths need to know how to make the _entire_ weapon, just the part they've been assigned."

"And from a security standpoint, only a handful of smiths will know howthe _entire_ weapon is assembled," Icando added. "Your Majesty… that's…"

"Brilliant," Kaie finished, a look of impressed amazement stamped on the Breton's face.

"I will see it done _immediately_ ," Nestor agreed, fevered excitement burning in his eyes.

"What other news from the Reach?" Tala asked.

"We've received reports from the Glenmoril Coven," Icando reported, pointing to a point on the map. "The Jarl of Falkreath is building up troops on our southeastern border, here at Sunderstone Gorge."

"They could be preparing to seize control of our easternmost mines, such as Bilegulch, your Majesty," Kaie reported. "Jarl Siddgeir is young enough, and stupid enough, to think of trying to take advantage of our supposed disorganization."

Vighar snorted derision, showing his appraisal of his own descendant's martial capabilities. The Lord of the Bloodlet Throne already had sons and daughters when he had contracted _Sanguinare Vampiris,_ during the War of the Red Diamond, five centuries before. In the aftermath of the war, he had abdicated in favor of his son, and spent the next five centuries in exile from his own home.

 **Falkreath is a pale shadow of the power it had been in his time,** Potema explained to Tala. **If that fool Siddgeir would play his cards right, he could use his position on the border of Cyrodiil as a prime opportunity to turn Falkreath into a merchant's paradise.**

 _But instead, he sits and pouts that he is not the ruler of a richer hold._

 **Just so.**

"Notify Lord Movarth at Fort Sungard," Tala said aloud. "The first shipments of the Dwemer Crossbows are to be sent to him. Lord Nestor, you will be responsible for training the soldiers of Sungard in the use _and care_ of their new weapons. Afterwards, you will do the same for Lord Borkul's troops at Fort Hamugstalh in the North."

Nestor made a half-bow in acknowledgement.

"Lady Kaie?"

"My queen," the Forsworn chieftainess bowed, "I have been contacted by Ri'saad: a caravan owner that before traveled mostly between Whiterun and Markarth. He is keen to protect his trade, and desires permission continue to buy and sell to the citizens of the Reach."

"Let them come," Nestor advised. "We want all of Skyrim to see what we are building here. What faster way to spread the word than by words spoken by Khajit merchants to every ear from here to Elsweyr?"

"I would advise against it, Majesty," Kaie warned. "The only things people go to Khajit to buy that they can't get anywhere else is their Moon Sugar, or _skooma_. And once those _poisons_ take hold in a city or region, it is well-nigh impossible to eradicate."

"Then there's the fact that we can't control _who_ the Khajit tell their tales _to_ ," added Icando. "I have no doubt, unless Jarl Balgruuf is a great _fool_ , that Ri'saad will be making regular reports to Dragonsreach of what he has seen and heard here in the Reach."

"That is a sword that cuts both ways," Tala spoke. "We cannot hope for our scouts to make it across the wide-open plains of Whiterun Hold without being run down by Balgruuf's cavalry patrols. The Khajit, on the other hand, travel where they will, see and hear more than most think, and speak as much as it profits them."

She turned back to Kaie.

"Tell the Khajit caravans this: they may sell their wares to the _Vodahmin_ freely. However, their caravans may not _sell_ within the city of Markarth, unless they wish to also purchase a permanent shop within the city. But ensure that he knows this: if _one_ ounce of Moon Sugar or one _tincture_ of skooma is found within their caravans when they are checked at the border crossings, then they will be… _less_ than welcome within the Reach."

Kaie grinned and nodded.

"So shall it be, my queen."

"Next, Lady Serana?" Tala asked.

Serana shifted uneasily then stood, taking the Elder Scroll from its usual place on her back.

"I'm sure all of you recognize this as an Elder Scroll," she said uneasily. "These symbols on the seal here are ancient Akaviri, near as I can decipher, for 'Sun.'"

"A Scroll of the Aedric Prophecies," Kaie murmured softly. "The likes of which can tell the past, the present, and the future."

"Yes, but we cannot read it," Tala stated simply. "Mortals who attempt to read an Elder Scroll usually go blind, often permanently."

"Then… who _can_ read it?" Icando asked.

"As near as I can tell," Serana said, "We need a _Moth_ Priest."

"A _what?"_

"It's an order of monks from Cyrodiil," Serana explained. "They spend their entire lives dedicated to studying and reading the Elder Scrolls."

"Well," Tala said, "Where do we find a Moth Priest in Skyrim?"

"It may be as easy as _requesting one_ ," Icando thought. "If we sent word to the Imperial City that an Elder Scroll had been _found_ …"

"It would take all of a fortnight to reach the ears of my father in Volkihar," Serana cut him off. "He's obsessed with finding _this_ scroll, which is why my mother entrusted it with me for safekeeping."

"That's a powerful argument for _destroying it_ , here and now," Vighar added in a low tone. All eyes turned to him incredulously. "I would be remiss if I did not put forward _all_ our options."

A small smile crossed Tala's face.

"An Elder Scroll cannot be destroyed, Vighar, son of Ragnar, by any craft that we here possess," she said in a low tone. "But I agree with Lady Serana," she continued. "Our greatest weapon at the moment is secrecy. I would not invite open war with the Volkihar until the time is right."

"Do we know _why_ Hakon wishes to obtain this scroll so badly?" Vighar asked.

"According to my mother…" Serana began, but then the door opened, revealing Elfridda Whitemane standing with hands folded in front of her.

"Pardon, your Majesty," she said graciously, "But the Lord Damn-Rune left instructions to be notified the _moment_ the delegation from Whiterun entered the city."

Icando and Tala shared a look, then Tala nodded at the younger thrall.

"Thank you, Elfridda," she said, " _Vodahmin_ , we will reconvene at the same time next week. That is all."

The circle of advisors stood with their queen, bowing deeply before departing for their various destinations and duties. Icando fell in with Serana and Tala, with Elfridda leading the way.

"Your Majesty," Elfridda said from just behind them, "The Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold is also accompanying the party. The message from the Jarl of Winterhold says that the Arch-Mage has been given full authority to treat with the Vodahmin."

Icando raised his eyebrows. "That is… unexpected."

"Wasn't Winterhold destroyed?" Serana asked, puzzled. "In an… earthquake, or was it a volcano?"

"The Great Collapse, yes," Icando explained. "But the Mage's College survived, as did a large portion of the city. They have had a difficult time rebuilding since then, however. Jarl Korir was a close-minded fool who threw in with Ulfric and the Stormcloaks."

"It would seem that his replacement, Jarl Kraldar, is a much more reasonable man," Tala mused. "Or at the very least, a much more _desperate_ man."

"The fact that the Arch-Mage has been given authority to treat for the hold at least shows that he is more willing to work _with_ the College than his predecessor," Icando agreed.

"Indeed. Savos Aren is not a man to underestimate."

Icando and Serana paused, prompting Tala to do the same.

"Pardon, Majesty," Serana corrected gently. "But according to Calcelmo's notes that we found in the museum, Savos Aren was killed nearly ten months ago, in the ruin of Labyrinthian. Apparently an archeological team uncovered the tomb of a Dragon Priest, prompting the lich to rise. The Arch-Mage died in the battle against Morokei."

Tala started.

 _So wait, does that mean the Dragonborn is the new Arch-Mage?_

 **Darling, if the Dragonborn had attempted to enter the Reach, the Forsworn would have torn him apart with their bare hands. They don't take things like the assassination of their King lightly.**

"So…" Tala said slowly, "Who is the new Arch-Mage of Winterhold?"

"Her name is Sarai Gellarus," explained Icando, resuming their walk to the Throne Room. "Again, according to Calcelmo, she joined the College almost eight years ago. She specialized in the Alteration School of Magic, and in a very short time, secured her place as a favored protégé of the Arch-Mage, to the point that when the Arch-Mage died, she was nearly unanimously elected as his replacement, despite being so young (only twenty-five)."

"Not someone to underestimate," mused Tala.

"Indeed," agreed the dark elf, "There were mages that had been at the College for _decades_ that were passed over or outvoted."

 **There was no Sarai Gellarus in the memories of your…game.**

 _I know… it doesn't make any sense. Savos was supposed to die in the Eye of Magnus Crisis._

 **Hmm… an anomaly. Unexpected, and worrisome.**

 _No shit._

Tala slowly took her seat on the Mournful Throne, nodding to the ever-present Skoberth Black-Song. The self-appointed bodyguard nodded in confirmation, then barked an order to the gate-guards. The doors were opened, and a large delegation of Nords entered the Understone Keep, looking for the most part extremely wary. They wore the yellow tunics of Whiterun over their armor, and their livery was emblazoned with Jarl Balgruuf's horse-head emblem. Leading these was a man in studded armor, with a very distinctive dragon skull in place of his left shoulder pauldron. At his side was young boy, around elven or twelve, if Tala didn't misjudge.

"Thane Hrongar Iron-Fist of Whiterun!" Skoberth announced.

 **Balgruuf's own brother.**

 _Huh. He never left Dragonsreach in the game… Interesting._

Behind these was a small group of mages. Tala recognized the typical uniform of apprentice mages of the College, with the tan hoods and blue Learner's robes. Leading _these_ was a very beautiful woman, wearing the distinctive robes of the Arch-Mage of Winterhold.

 **Identical robes to your world's game. Fascinating.**

 _Same clothes, but VERY much a different person._

"Arch-Mage Gellarus of Winterhold!"

Tala's eyes narrowed, and she didn't miss the fact that the Arch-Mage was staring _very_ intently at her as Icando stepped forward beside her.

"Honored guests and emissaries," he said in his silver-tongued tones, "As Hand of the Queen, I bid you welcome to the court of Tala Niwot, Queen of the Reach, Lady of the Forsworn, Keeper of the Mournful Throne, and High Mother of the _Vodahmin_."

Hrongar opted to bring his arm across his chest in a warrior's salute rather than make the customary bow the mages gave towards the Mournful Throne.

 **Typical brutish Nords.**

 _They're proud warriors, not wishing to bow to a ruler who slaughtered their friends and deposed their allies._

"Lady Tala," Hrongar said, stepping forward. "I bring greetings from my brother, Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. In these… troubled times, he most anxious to maintain the hard-won peace the people of Skyrim have earned for themselves."

The tone was monotone, and had the flavor of a carefully-written and even-more-carefully rehearsed speech, but Tala nodded graciously all the same.

"I bring tidings of friendships and peace as well, Majesty," Arch-Mage Gellarus said, her voice by contrast a rolling lilt. "Jarl Kraldar the Just of Winterhold sends his greetings, and has great hopes of forging a friendship, tempered in fire and water, for a lasting peace between Markarth and Winterhold."

Tala nodded again, then stood to her feet.

"We thank you for your tidings, and echo their sentiments to your Jarls," her voice rose high in the stone halls of the Keep. "Lord Damn-Rune will show you to your guest chambers, where we bid you to take your rest, after a long journey. It is also our pleasure to invite you to dine with us at banquet tonight."

More salutes and bows, and the party left the throne room, following Icando. Tala stood and turned to Serana, who had stood off to the side, somewhat hidden in the shadows.

"What do you think?"

"I think the Jarl of Whiterun sending his brother shows at least he's serious in his offer. The fact that his brother is a famous warrior also shows that he will not tolerate slight or insult to his office or his jarl."

"The boy with him also further communicates that this is a mission of peace," Tala agreed. " _That_ was a master stroke, there. If I had to guess, I'd say that was one of his sons."

Serana nodded in agreement.

"If anything happens to the party, it would prompt enough outrage from the rest of jarls to unite against us."

"I would _never_ lift hand against messengers," Tala objected.

"Nonetheless, it also prompts you to do whatever you can to ensure no harm comes to them, _wherever_ they are in your lands."

"Ahh, I see," Tala sighed. "Will you join us tonight at banquet?"

"Your Majesty is very kind," Serana said. "But I usually sup on a different fare than should be served before guests and outsiders."

"I would still like to see you there," Tala replied.

A slightly pained expression crossed the vampiress' face.

"My Queen," she said carefully, "Perhaps we should not make _too_ much of the events of last night. Whatever happened…"

"You mean how we _slept_ together?"

"…can be attributed more to Sanguine's influence than anything else," Serana continued.

"And the kiss this morning?" Tala drew closer to Serana, who inhaled sharply through her nose. "Which of the Daedric Princes caused _that?"_

Serana made no answer.

"I'm… not… dammnit Serana, I'm not looking to visit Mara anytime soon," Tala sighed. "I just… I _like you_."

 _ **Marvelous**_ **, Tala dear. It's a wonder the girl doesn't** _ **swoon**_ **away.**

 _Shut UP._

"I would _like_ to spend more time with you… if you want," Tala finished, suddenly uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

"I'd… I'd like that too," Serana said finally. "I'll see you tonight."

The vampiress reached up a hand and touched Tala's arm, then turned away down the hall.

 **Sanguine aid me, it's like watching children try to juggle.**

 _SHUT. UP._

* * *

"My Queen?"

"Come in, Laelette," Tala called, attaching a necklace around her throat. Despite Icando's insistence that she employ handmaidens and dressing maids, Tala had equally insisted that she could take care of herself, insofar as dressing herself was concerned. However, she had no doubt that there was a small army of servants on-hand at all times, thanks to Icando.

"Pardon me, Milady," the young vampiress said, bowing as she came into the room. "But the Arch-Mage requests a moment of your time, before the banquet, that is. She insists it is of the utmost importance, and for your ears alone."

 **This smells like a trap.**

 _You think the Arch-Mage of Winterhold crossed the entire realm of Skyrim just to assassinate us in the middle of the palace?_

 **Be on your guard, nonetheless.**

"Show her in, Laelette," Tala said. Laelette bowed, and walked backwards out of the room, and there was a whispered conversation outside in the hallway. After a moment, the figure of the Arch-Mage of Winterhold appeared at the door. She was clad in dress robes now, rather than her mage outfit.

"What can we do for you, Arch-Mage?" Tala asked opening her hands in welcoming gesture.

The door closed behind her, and Sarai Gellarus turned to face her.

"You can start by telling me where in the Pacific Northwest you're from," she replied. "By the accent, I'd guess… Oregon? Maybe Washington State?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Houston, we have touchdown. Lot of stuff going down in this chapter, hope you guys will stay tuned for the next.**

 **Lot of people have PM'ed me asking about** **Beacon's Effect** **. Rest assured, the story's not gone on hiatus, or anything like that. I'm just suffering from a really bad case of writer's block. I had a good friend and beta point out a** _ **JARRING**_ **hole in the storyline I had planned for the story, and I'm currently trying to re-work it and get the chapter up to the standard that I believe my readers deserve, for being so awesome.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you guys think of the chapter and what you're hoping for in future chapters! OH, also, if any of you have suggestions for OCs, feel free to mention them or PM them to me! I'm always open to suggestions!**

 **Thanks, everybody!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24 – Next chapter will be the Major face-off/meeting, I promise.

Pietersielie – Yep, Potema had no qualms whatsoever about involving higher powers in her plans.

METALHELLSPWN – Umm… yes. To all.

griezz – lol, so would that make Lewis "Xander" or "Angel?"

hopelessromantic34 – Don't want to say too much, but while the Dark Brotherhood may be scattered, the Night Mother is far from dead.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – FULL SPEED AHEAD!

KingHoborg – Hopefully, we'll have a better Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as well.

Genious – I'm trying really hard to avoid the OP-route (let me know if I go too far). So far, Tala's success has been due to her knowledge of the game and Potema's necromantic skill. But _winning_ a kingdom is much harder than _ruling_ a kingdom.

lightning909, gearblade, Smiling Seshat, – Thanks! I really appreciate that!

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!


	17. Chapter 17: I'm NOT Buffy!

***UNDERSTONE KEEP*  
MARKARTH  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM **

Tala stood there for a very long moment, trying to take in the Arch-Mage's question. She opened her mouth, but it took her about three attempts to get the words out:

"Wyoming. Just outside of Laramie."

The other girl smiled and walked forward, extending a hand.

"I'm Sarah Gellar. Of Los Angeles. And before you ask, no, my middle name is _not_ Michelle."

Tala reached forward somewhat awkwardly, shaking the offered hand.

"That had to have been hell growing up in LA with that name," she managed.

Sarah Gellar, or Sarai Gellarus, chuckled and shook her head.

"I had _all kinds_ of creeps stalking my apartment. ALL the time. Could be worse, though: Lewis is from Texas."

"So… wait, wait. What?"

"How did you die?"

"What?"

"Lewis and I both went through traumatic events to cross over. Lewis got into a car accident when he was 10, and I was mugged and stabbed."

"Wait… Lewis?"

"Lewis Heron."

"Lewis H…. Llewellyn Hereon? As in the _fucking DRAGONBORN_?"

"One and the same!"

Tala nearly staggered backward, reaching a hand out and sinking into a nearby chair. She took several quick breaths, then blinked slowly.

"Ok… I have… SO MANY QUESTIONS."

The Arch-Mage of Winterhold sank down in the chair opposite the Queen of the Reach.

"I do as well. Tell you what, take turns?"

 **Tit for tat… Careful, child. Just because she's from your world does not make her your friend.**

"We'll… start there," Tala agreed.

"Great," Sarah beamed. "Now, you've already answered where you were from, so I guess it's my turn. Shoot."

"How many of us are there? People from our world, I mean?"

Sarah nodded, then drew her feet up underneath her on the chair.

"As best as we can tell, only Lewis and me. Oh, and now you, of course. So... three. Now, how did you die?"

"Wolf attack. On my family's cattle ranch."

Sarah took a sharp breath through her nose and her face grimaced in horror.

"Oh… oh god," she breathed, a trace of pure Valley-Girl accent appearing in her voice. "That sounds… God, that sounds terrible."

"It wasn't… fun," Tala shrugged.

"I would think not! OK… your turn."

 _Important information first. Get minor details later._

 **Just so, dear.**

"How long have you two been here?" Tala asked aloud.

"Me? Only eight years, most of which was spent pouring over books in Winterhold," Sarah admitted frankly. "But, like I said, Lewis was only ten when he came over. They threw him in the orphanage in Riften."

"Grela the Kind…" Tala mused, remembering both the gameplay and the Thalmor dossier she had found in the Thalmor Embassy.

Sarah nodded. "Yep. He spent the next _ten years_ surviving arguably the worst city in Skyrim, and working his way up the Thieves' Guild ranks. Then Helgen, Alduin, Sovngarde, the whole bit, as you have no doubt heard."

"He was the first person I met, here, incidentally. At…"

"Wolfskull Cave, yes," Sarah waved a hand. "He's told me all about that. He feels kinda awful about leaving you there, by the way. But he was in a hurry at the time."

"Wait... So, he's back from…?"

"Solstheim? Yes. And that's two questions."

"Sorry."

What year is it? Back on Earth, I mean, when you came over?"

Tala furrowed an eyebrow. "2017."

Sarah pulled an expression to match her own.

"Hmmm… that confirms it, then."

"Confirms what? "

"It was 2016 when I was brought over, like I said, eight years ago, Nirn-time. Lewis has been here… eighteen years. Yet he swears it was 2016 Earth-time when he was brought over, too."

"So," Tala pondered, "there's no correlation to time here and… back there."

Sarah once again shook her head.

"Nope. Herma-Mora is just pulling us from wherever he wishes, it would seem."

In a gesture that was growing all too-familiar, Tala's eyes widened and she slowly back towards the Arch-Mage.

"What?"

Now it was the Arch-Mage's turn to stare.

"Oh my god. You didn't know? Herma-Mora? As in Hermaeus Mora? As in…"

" _The Woodland Man,"_ muttered Tala. "Yes, I know WHO he is…"

"He hasn't appeared to you?" asked Sarah. "He showed himself to Lewis and I within _moments_ of bringing us over."

 **Our being bound together might have had something to do with that…**

 _Maybe. But one thing at a time._

"Why?" Tala asked, "More power and knowledge?"

"Does it matter?" Sarai shrugged, "Tala, you have to STOP THIS."

A very cold chill ran down Tala's spine.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're…you are _changing_ the timeline of the game!"

 **Oh, and she gets it in one!**

"No shit."

Sarah blinked at Tala's blunt answer, and Tala did not give her the opportunity to reply:

"Did you think I could have assembled a vast army and carved out a kingdom such as _this_ in so very little time, if I _DIDN'T think_ it would change anything?! I have altered the face of the Empire in the four weeks I've been here! YOU, on the other hand, you've been here, what, _eight_ years now? And The Dragonborn nearly _TWENTY_? What in Sheogorath's Name have you been doing?"

"P-P-Preserving the Timeline!" sputtered the Arch-Mage.

"WHY?"

Sarah opened her mouth, then closed it.

"Are you protecting the _timeline_? Or just ensuring your place in it?"

Sarah's mouth was set in a firm line.

"You don't understand what your return could set in motion," Sarai replied in a tone of voice that showed she was trying _very hard_ to stay calm. "There are things you know _nothing_ about! The Aldmeri…"

"I am more than aware of the Thalmor, _Arch-Mage,"_ Tala retorted, "And I _know_ that the Empire is crumbling, because the vapid and useless Titus Mede II is more concerned with _time_ rather than power. The White Gold Concordat was a slap in the face to loyal Imperials everywhere, and has cost the Empire Hammerfell and nearly cost it Skyrim."

"It was…"

"Necessary, I KNOW. But the fact remains that the empire is building forts when it should be building _ships_. We are hosting diplomats when we should be dispatching _legions_. You have destroyed the Dark Brotherhood, instead of sic'ing them on the officials of the Thalmor. Instead of _using_ the werewolves and vampires, you've organized and _condoned_ the Silver Hand, and the Vigilants of Stendarr."

Tala could see the white of Sarah's knuckles as she gripped the arm of her chair.

"How many vampires have you recruited?" she asked finally. "And how long can you control them?"

 **Poor little fool.**

 _God, I hate Lawful-Goods._

"See… right there," Tala groaned. "Even if I was inclined to answer those questions, which I'm NOT, they show how little you comprehend of power."

"Tala, I'm not your enemy!" Sarah protested. "We have to work together!"

"And when Tullius marches his legions westward on the orders of his Emperor? Will we work together then, _Buffy_?"

Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"They cannot be trusted, Tala. They worship the _Daedra_ , for Arkay's sake!"

"BECAUSE THE DAEDRA actually _give a fuck_ about those who call upon their name! Weaklings call upon Akatosh, Mara, and Dibella all they want! But the gods only protect…"

Tala reached over and slammed the Mace of Molag Bal on the table.

"…THE STRONG!"

Sarah's pallor changed to a decidedly greenish-grey.

"Oh, god…"

"I have the Prince of Damnation's weapon, and I have secured the allegiance of his Children!"

Horrified eyes made contact with cold, calculating ones.

"You have to stop this! These are _people_ that you've killed! REAL People! This is not a game!"

"Yes, and my actions are freeing this world from the confines of Bethesda's storyline! I am not content to watch and observe marionettes performing actions that I can predict! You and your Dragonborn are content to play your precious little parts in your _precious little game_! YOU are the gamers, not me! I take the table, and I OVERTHROW IT!"

"Spokes on a wheel," Sarah whispered, as though remembering something.

Tala grinned at the Game of Thrones reference.

"Just so. And now I'm here to BREAK THE WHEEL."

"You want to be Khaleesi of Markarth, then?"

Now it was Tala's turn to pause and take a deep breath.

 **We cannot afford to antagonize them. Back-track a little, Tala dear. Reassure the poor frightened girl.**

"I'm not a murder-hobo, if that's what you mean," Tala spoke. "I'm _not_ looking for chaos for chaos' sake. I set out to free the Forsworn and win back their home. I have achieved that, and as far as I am concerned, I am content to live in peace."

"To _rule_ in peace," Sarah corrected.

"Says Buffy the Arch-Mage," Tala rejoined, "Oh, yeah, and the Dragonborn is living _SO_ low-key."

The two actually shared a smile at that, then came a knock at the door.

"Enter," Tala called, turning from her…

 _My countryman? My… fellow expatriate?_

 **Fellow Traveler.**

The door opened to reveal Serana in a _very_ revealing dress, which was scarcely more than two swaths of cloth covering her breasts, and a full skirt with a long red train. Tala's mouth fell open _just_ slightly, and she found she was holding her breath again.

"My Queen," Serana bowed, her silky voice filling the room, "the banquet is laid and the guests are awaiting your pleasure."

Sara's eyes, on the other hand, were also wide, (but Tala suspected, for a very different reason) and she was making small choking noises in the back of her throat.

"Don't fret, Arch-Mage," Serana soothed gently, but with a layer of ice beneath the niceties, "I won't be draining any necks tonight. Not all vampires are bloodthirsty savages."

For a moment, Tala thought Sara might have an aneurism right there in the Queen's chambers.

 **Poor girl. She doesn't know what to think.**

 _And Serana thinks she's staring at her because she's a vampire…_

"Arch-Mage."

Sarai Gellarus seemed to snap out of whatever stunned trance she was trapped in, and turned to look at the Queen of the Reach. Tala turned and led the way into the hallway, sensing more than seeing Serana and the other woman follow her.

 **Well, we've got a few answers.**

 _More questions than answers. And we've established the fact that the two other… Travelers, or whatever we are, are idiot canon-followers._

 **Clever girl.**

Two of the warriors that Tala recognized as werewolves opened the giant doors to the banquet hall. Those already seated respectfully stood to their feet as Tala moved to sit down at the banquet, with Serana on her left, and Icando on her right. The horseshoe-shaped table held the two Nordic parties on each arm, with the Vodahmin in the center.

The meal was, Tala noticed, finely-prepared Vale Deer venison, with mammoth steaks. Wine, beer, and mead were served liberally (though Tala noticed the _Vodahmin_ were sipping their own drinks after the chaos of the night before).

"Now that you're queen of the Reach," Hrongar asked, pausing to let out an impressive belch, "What do you intend to do with it?"

A meaty fist slammed on the table.

"What do you want?"

Icando began to rise and protest at the bluntness of the question, but Tala placed a hand on the Dunmer's arm.

"I suspect the same as you, Hrongar Iron-Fist," she answered, her tone matching the giant Nord's. "To live in peace, by my own fire, and with no one to tell me how to order my life."

The Nords in the room nodded in agreement, glancing at one another.

"You can tell your brother he has nothing to fear from me," Tala continued. "I desire nothing but friendship with the other Jarls. Any trade caravan entering my borders from any of the other eight holds will have my protection and guarantee of safe passage."

Hrongar scoffed, but reached for another cup of beer.

"For what price?"

Tala shared a look with her Hand, then shrugged.

"Two coins of every ten."

"OH, that is…!"

Arch-Mage Gellarus stood to her feet, the objection she was about to raise dying away as the trivial tribute amount sunk in.

"…extremely… generous."

"I am trying to rule a queendom, Arch-Mage, not gild a Throne," Tala answered with a slight nod. "However, my own caravans and the merchants of the Reach must be afforded the same courtesy, and offered the same protection."

"We are no _robbers_ or bandits, to attack trade carts," Hrongar growled.

"Of course not," Tala replied quickly. "Your own cavalry patrols have done much in ensuring the safety of the roads since the end of the Stormcloak Rebellion."

"And the Blades' Hunts have done much to curb the Dragon Scourge as well," Sara added. "Their fortress… it lies not far from Karthspire, does it not?"

Tala lifted an eyebrow at the feigned ignorance of the question, but nodded.

"That is true. The Blades protected the _Septim_ line of Emperors long and faithfully, and since their rebirth, have struggled, fought, and bled to protect both Nords and Reachmen from dragon fire. As long as they do not lift blade against us, we will respect Sky Haven Temple."

The rest of the meal passed in relative peace, with some of the Forsworn attendees asking respectful questions of the apprentice mages, as well as practical admirations of the quality of the Whiterun horses. More bottles and barrels were brought in from the cellars, and more goblets were filled, and the razor-thin suspicion and hostility _began_ to wane as more ale and song was raised.

Jugglers and bards were now taking requests and singing, and many of the attendees were now standing and mingling in the banquet room. Tala turned and strode to the large balcony, overlooking the City of Stone below. She heard Serana, Icando and one of the mages discussing some of the finer points of Conjuration magic, and she took another sip of her wine.

 **We're not alone…**

Tala looked left to find the young boy that had accompanied the party.

"You're smarter than they thought you would be," he stated, also looking out on the sunset.

"Thank you, Master…"

"Nelkir," the boy answered. "Nelkir Balgruufson."

 _Jarl Balgruuf's youngest child._

"My siblings are idiots," Nelkir was saying. "My brother? He spends all this time now swinging swords with one or another of the Companions, thinking that being a great warrior will make him a good Jarl. My sister… _gods_ , my sister spends all her time worrying about _clothes_ and _fashion_ and 'Does he like me?' or 'Will Father arrange a good marriage for me?' It makes me sick."

"And what do you think makes a good Jarl, Nelkir Balgruufson?"

The boy turned and met the gaze of the Queen of the Reach. His eyes were a deep and dark blue, and the young twelve-year-old suddenly seemed _much_ older than his looks.

"To be smarter than everyone else in the room. Like you."

"I wouldn't say that," Tala mused. "There were some very wise people in the room, including your uncle."

Nelkir made a dismissive gesture.

"If you had suggested any of that trade agreement to my uncle in the Throne Room, he would have fallen on his sword rather than accepted whatever terms you offered," he scoffed. "But you waited."

Tala made no answer, merely lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. Nelkir continued:

"You combined the banquet and the audience into one. Ale and mead lowered my uncle's guard, and the low tribute price caught the Arch-Mage off-guard as well."

"Is that so?"

"It is. Like I said, you're cleverer than they thought you would be."

 **I like this child.**

 _Smarter than the rest of his bunch, that's for sure._

"As you get older, you will find that people are very quick to underestimate others on account of their sex… or their age. You, seem to have a good head on your shoulders, young Nelkir."

The boy's jaw tightened and his fists clenched.

"For all the good it will do me. I will _not be_ a thane in my bro…my _half_ -brother's court. My destiny lies in greater things, I've been told."

"That is what separates fools from wise men," Tala answered slowly. "Believe half of what you see…"

"…and none of what you hear," Nelkir finished. "The Lady told me something similar. You know the Lady of Whispers?"

 **Ahh… so** _ **that's**_ **who's been advising this child.**

 _I wonder…?_

"Mephala says many things, my friend," Tala replied. "Not all of them are necessarily true."

Nelkir made another scoffing sound.

"That's what the _Dragonborn_ said. He took her Blade and hid it away!"

The boy's face fell, for just an instant.

"And I haven't heard her voice since…"

"Nelkir!" came an _entirely_ too-perky voice. "There you are!"

Only Tala could see the boy roll his eyes before turning, an entirely-believable smile on his face.

"Lady Sarai."

The Arch-Mage came and leaned on the balcony as well, on the other side of the boy from Tala.

"What are you two doing out here?" she asked, keeping her voice care-free and disarming.

 **Manipulative and nosy little bitch, isn't she?**

"Just talking," Nelkir shrugged.

"Oh? What about?"

"The pros and cons of Daedra worship," Tala answered glibly, which earned her a grin from the Nordic boy and another horrified glance from the woman. Sarai quickly recovered from her startled expression, adopting a more serene pose.

"Your uncle is looking for you, Nelkir."

"Of course he is," Nelkir answered, and the scorn from his earlier tone of voice seeped into the words. The youngest son of Balgruuf turned back to face Tala.

"I thank you for your hospitality, your Majesty," he said with a very formal bow at the waist. "I hope that this trade agreement will blossom into a full-fledged alliance between Whiterun and Markarth."

Tala drew herself up in kind, and gave a slight bow of her own.

"That is my fondest wish as well, young prince. You are always welcome at my court, Nelkir Balgruufson."

The boy grinned and returned to the banquet hall. Sarai turned to look back out over the cityscape of Markarth.

"Alright, I confess," she said after a moment. "I did _not_ foresee Serana showing up here."

"Of course you didn't," Tala chuckled. "Because it's not in the chronological order of the gameplay. Should I have gone first to Isran and listen to that pedantic racist moan about his life-problems for _weeks_ before going to Dimhollow Crypt, _almost_ too late?"

Sarai made no answer, aside from a deep sigh.

"So… you're going after the Bow of Auri-El, then?"

Tala groaned and resisted the urge to rub her temple.

"OH _God help me…_ I have no need to blot out the Sun, Sarai Gellarus. And I'm not interested in prophetic scrolls written by revenge-driven Snow Elves on the outer verges of sanity."

"But…" Sarai sputtered. "But _Dawnguard…"_

"Without the Elder Scroll and without his daughter, Hakon will never find the bow," Tala continued. "And with no Hall of Vigilants to raid for information, he won't even be able to find Dimhollow Crypt. He'll continue his pointless existence in his little frozen castle in the middle of Ass-Nowhere. Isran and his precious _Dawnguard_ can have him. You and Dragonborn can even _help,_ if you insist on following your little side-quests."

"And these vampires you have assembled here? How do you know they won't betray you to Hakon?"

" **Because they are bound to** _ **me.**_ **"**

"Promises made to a mortal, even a Queen, mean little to worshippers of the Daedra," Sarai protested, completely missing the change in Tala's voice. Looking out over the city, she had missed the change in her eyes as well. Tala choked back whatever rant Potema was about to launch, and merely leaned on the balcony railing as well.

"I believe I will take my chances… _Buffy_."

Sarai winced.

"Oh, _please_ , don't call me that. I had nothing _but_ that nickname in kindergarten and grade-school. _And_ high-school…"

"Too late," Tala ribbed, but she managed to give the Arch-Mage a smile as she groaned and put _her_ head in her hands.

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER** *

A loud knocking sounded in the Queen's Chambers. It was not so much the sound itself that sent a tremor of panic through Tala's heart, as much as the _nature_ of the sound. It was not the hesitant, half-hearted knock of someone extremely repentant about disturbing their queen's rest. It was the insistent 'SHIT-HAS-GONE-DOWN' knock of an unmistakable emergency. The Mace was already in Tala's hand as she rolled off the bed and onto her feet.

"WHO?" Tala inquired, bracing for the worst.

"Tala!"

"Serana?"

Tala moved to open the door. The Daughter of Coldharbor was in full vampire armor, and her dagger was drawn.

"We have a situation. At the Main Gate."

"Help me with my armor," Tala commanded, turning and shedding her nightgown. Within a few short moments, she was buckling on her breastplate and her sword belt.

"What is going on?" she asked as Serana helped her.

"Our scouts reported that the survivors of the Stormcloak camp were marching south. Borkul and his men have been pursing them."

"Yes, and?"

"A large party of Stormcloaks appeared at the gates. Somehow they slipped past our scouting posts. By the time they were detected, we had only enough time to man the walls."

"How many?"

"No more than fifty, Skoberth says. At most."

"What is the problem, then?" Tala asked, confused. "We have more than enough to sweep such a small force aside. And they're no threat to our walls."

"Their leader has requested to talk to you."

"Personally? Who is their leader?"

By now, the two women were emerging into the main hall of the Keep. Skoberth Black-Song and the rest of Tala's self-appointed bodyguards fell in formation behind the two women.

"He says his name is Kottir Red-Shoal," the former bard answered Tala's last question.

 **Do you know this name?**

 _I think so… He might have been the Stormcloak commander in the Reach._

"Let us wipe them out, my Queen," Skoberth was saying. "No doubt he's here to challenge you to single combat."

"Then he is a bigger fool than I thought," Tala snorted. "A dozen Stormcloak bastards would be little challenge for me."

"You would be lowering yourself to accept such a challenge," Icando replied, suddenly appearing next to group as they exited onto Markarth's main street. "If such a challenge is made, you are under no obligation to accept it."

"If you _were_ to fight him," Serana added from her place behind the queen. "It could be a devastating blow to any resistance movement in the Reach. It would be a solid demonstration of your power."

The armed party was now arriving at the main gate of the city. They ascended the spiral staircase of the gate guard tower, where Kaie was standing to meet them, Dwarven crossbow in hand.

"I have warriors in the trees all around these _Nordhi kurrs_ , _Banríon_ ," the Steward of Markarth hissed, using the Forsworn word for 'Queen' or 'High Mother.' "Give me the word, and they will be slaughtered where they stand."

Tala looked out into the darkness. Just visible in the distance was a small knot of warriors, standing back to back, shield to shield. From this high up, Tala could see where, in the center of the ring, several figures lay prone.

 **Protecting their wounded.**

 _Why would they bother bringing them? They would just slow them down!_

 **Something else is at work here.**

"No doubt they know that full well, brave Kaie," Tala answered, laying a hand on the Forsworn woman's arm for reassurance. "But if these _Stoirmcloca_ wanted to die, they could have done so in any glen or valley between here and their camp. There is a purpose in their coming here, and I mean to find out what."

"My Lady…" a dozen mouths opened to protest, but when the emerald eyes flashed a bright blue that was obvious even in the dim torchlight, all objections ceased.

"Open the gate!" Skoberth called out, shedding his cloak and hood, leaving his entire upper body bare.

 **Typical male bravado. Nords are always so predictable…** _ **but so handsome**_ **all the same.**

 _Hey. Knock it off._

 **I'm dead, not blind, dearie…**

The bronze gates creaked open _just enough_ to allow Tala and her bodyguards through, Serana also staying by Tala's side. Tala did not miss Icando and half a dozen other vampires dart off to disappear into the darkness. This was _their_ hour, and any fight that might break out was going to be terribly one-sided.

As the party approached the knot of warriors, the snarling bear on their shields could now be clearly seen. One warrior dropped his shield, reached over his shoulder, and drew a massive two-handed Greatsword. Skoberth took half-a-step in front of his queen, but the Stormcloak captain stabbed the weapon point-first into the ground, then began to walk towards them.

"Don't be fooled, Milady: he could have a dozen daggers and two axes underneath that bear-skin cloak," muttered the former bard in a tone that only Tala could hear.

"You are Lady Tala Niwot, Queen of the Reach?" the tall Nord asked, the accent think with a northerner's drawl.

 **Windhelm-born, or I'm a Bosmer.**

"I am she," Tala confirmed, nodding. "You are Kottir Red-Shoal, are you not?"

"I am, noble lady," the Nord answered, his tone very respectful, for a Stormcloak. "I thank you for granting us this meeting."

"You requested it," Tala shrugged, "And I am here: What would Kottir Red-Shoal ask of Tala Niwot?"

There was a moment of silence before the tall bear-clad Nord slowly ( _and stiffly_ , Tala noticed) sank to one knee.

"Queen Tala," the tall Nord stated, his head bowed low, and his arms outstretched, "We would wish to formally request asylum of the Reach."

 **Well…that is…**

 _Not what I expected._

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Hope you guys enjoy the long-awaited meeting of Sarah Geller (NOT BUFFY) and Tala Niwot. As was said in the chapter, some questions were answered, and more were raised. The involvement of Herma-Mora will come as no surprise to some of you (who may have recognized the 'Woodland Man' reference a few chapters ago). As for the** _ **nature**_ **of his involvement, you'll have to wait and see.**

 **Also, we've met a few other characters: Nelkir, the troubled son of Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun (and almost-bearer of the Ebony Blade), and now Kottir Red-Shoal, who seeks to test if the queens' promise of religious freedom** _ **really**_ **means what it says in the proclamation that was sent to the farthest corners of Skyrim and beyond.**

 **I've really enjoyed the PMs and reviews sent by you all, and I hope you'll continue them! I enjoy the feedback, and the very cool and original ideas that some of you have suggested (if I wind up using them, I will definitely give shout-outs).**

 **Thanks, everyone!**

 **-Tusken1602  
**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24, crowfeild, Guest – Thanks! Glad you liked it!

Pietersielie – I'm a big fan of the cliffhangers, as you might have noticed. ;P

METALHELLSPWN, Tech Warrior Ender – That it is. The plot thickens like fog on a humid morning…

Smiling Seshat – Trying to stay non-fandom friendly!

Malhavoc Shadowlord – Yeah… not the greatest way to approach a delicate subject, to be sure.

DreadedWolf - Wow. Thanks, I really appreciate that! I try to approach my FF kinda the same way that Tala is handling her adventure: by remembering that all of these people have lives even when they are not part of the main questline.

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!


	18. Chapter 18: Stormclouds

***MARKARTH** ***  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

"You can't trust them!"

Icando ignored Kaie's protest, offering a more practical piece of advice to Tala:

"Allowing them in could bring war with the Empire, if you offer sanctuary to those that they have named as outlaws and traitors."

"Which of us does _not_ fit that description?" Serana asked, "Not allowing them in will make you a liar."

"They slaughtered our kin!" Kaie continued.

"Did they?" the Dunmer countered. "The oldest among that party of Stormcloaks would have been little more than _children_ at the time of the Markarth incident. Red-Shoal himself was an officer i _n_ the Imperial Legion at that time!"

"This could just be a ruse to gain entrance to the city," Vighar rumbled from corner of the room where he was standing. "Or at the very least, they could be looking for a place to rest and regroup before heading out to raid the Empire again, using the Reach as a base from which to do so."

"Which the Empire will interpret as an act of war," Icando agreed, "Just the same as if it were _Vodahmin_ raiding parties burning down villages and farms."

"I say we strike them down, now. We can always use more chattel for the Redlines Wine," Vighar chuckled.

"They are disarmed and helpless," Serana protested. "It would be beyond cowardly to strike them down now."

"It would be easy," Borkul spoke up. The big orc had shown up only moments after Kottir's formal plea, his patrols winded and exhausted from their long pursuit of their foes.

"The time for killing them was _before_ they reached our gates and formally requested asylum, Borkul," Tala responded.

The orc growled at the reminder of his troop's failure to catch the Stormcloaks.

"Killing them would be a mercy compared to what happened the last time Stormcloaks entered this city," he muttered darkly.

" **Then why would you wish to grant them that mercy, brave Borkul?"**

The others turned and gave questioning looks to the Wolf-Queen. Potema's blue eyes blazed as she met each of their gazes.

" **Death for a Nord means Sovngarde, and drinking and feasting with Shor and Ysmir. Do you think they fear such a fate? But to live… To wake up every morning and know that that their every breath is because of the Reach-borns' mercy, and that every day they remain alive is because the Forsworn** _ **allow**_ **it. I can think of few greater punishments for a proud** _ **Nordhi**_ **."**

An hour later, the Stormcloaks rose to their feet as a cart was pushed into place by eight stalwart Forsworn, led by Lady Tala. With a grunting heave, the cart was overturned, and weapons of every size and denomination poured onto the ground of the wide meadow where they had been herded and disarmed. Many of the assembled prisoners recognized them as their own blades that they had surrendered only a few hours ago.

"Hear me, Sons of Skyrim!"

The Stormcloaks gathered around at the queen's call.

"Here are your blades, which you have wielded so long, and so bravely. Hear now the word of Tala Niwot:

To those who will bow the knee and serve, I will grant asylum to the Reach."

A collective sigh of relief washed over the assembled Nords.

"But know this," she added quickly, "I will _not_ be your shield, to protect you in-between raids on the surrounding Holds. I offer Life, and I offer Death."

Hopeful and expectant faces grew grim and pensive.

"Life in the Reach will mean a great many things," Tala continued. "You will worship Talos without fear or concealment, and have the freedom to raise your sons and daughters to do the same. You may send for families, those of you who wish to, and they may join you here. Here all are welcome, and all are _equal_ : To take up your blades and pledge them to me is to be _Vodahmin_. And for some of you, that may be a bitter name to bear.

Forgotten shall be your quarrel with the Forsworn.

Forgotten shall be the cause of Ulfric Stormcloak, and his blood-feud with the Empire.

You shall not fly his banners, and you shall not bear his sigil.

You will stand shoulder to shoulder with Nord, Breton, Imperial, Argonian, and Khajit. They will be your sword-brothers and shield-sisters. You will give your life for them, and they will do the same for you. Beneath the banner of the Blood Wolf, all past distinctions and separations are _Vodahmin_ : Forgotten. That is my word of Life."

Kottir Red-Shoal pulled on his beard thoughtfully.

"And your word of Death?" he asked.

"It is there: By sword, shield, and axe," Tala answered, gesturing to the cart of weapons. "If my word of Life is too heavy for you to bear, then I swear this with equal promise: I will grant you Death. You may take up your blades again and die as you have lived: Stormcloaks. I will send your bodies back to your kin, to be buried amongst your own people, in your own way. And I will have your deaths remembered by all: in great and glorious battle, worthy indeed to pass Tsun, over the Bridge of Bone, and enter the Hall of Valor. And I will bear witness before Talos himself on the Final Day how bravely you met your deaths.

I come here today to show you that my word of Death is true, and that my word of life is therefore equally true. The Empire has given neither fair words or fair battle to Skyrim, and I am here to offer you either one, or get either one from you."

There was a long pause, and the Stormcloaks began whispered counsels and arguments with one another. Finally their captain stepped forward and held up his arms.

"Brothers!" he shouted, and their noise died down. "Brothers!"

A quiet came across the meadow.

"I have fought beside each of you in the _skjoldveggen_. And I could ask for no greater, or braver, comrades than each of you have been.

This is not a defeat. We are not surrendering. This is a victory. This is the culmination of everything we have fought for:

We fought for a free Skyrim: this is the last corner of the land that has not bent the knee to Cyrodiil. Queen Tala's decree spits in the face of the White-Gold Concordat, and will allow us to raise our sons and our daughters as free Nords, in the worship of the Hero-God Talos.

I was among the first to pledge my blade to Ulfric Stormcloak that day at Windhelm. I am not ashamed of being a Stormcloak, and never will be. But the day has come to put the Bear aside, not because we are defeated, but because it is no longer needed. We have won, my shield-kin: And every day we live free to worship Talos in our own way, is another victory, won by the blood of our comrades who smile upon us from Sovngarde."

Kottir Red-Shoal strode to the pile of blades, and drew his greatsword. Then he thrust one end into the ground and took a knee before Tala.

"My Queen, by Talos and Ysmir, with Shor as my witness, my blade and my life are yours, from this day, until my last day."

Another Nord rose and strode to the pile, repeating the gesture and the oath. Then another, and another. Tala made a quick count: of the fifty-eight Nords who were assembled, fifty-three were now kneeling before her. Five Stormcloaks still stood in the back. Tala stepped forward to address them.

"And you, brave Nords?"

One of their number, a woman, no older than her mid-twenties, Tala judged, stepped forward.

"It is not that we do not trust your word, Lady Tala. But I am a Stormcloak, and I will die as one."

"Solveig…" Kottir pleaded, half-rising.

"I do not begrudge any of you your choice," Solveig said, her voice rising high and gaining strength. "Remember us, my sisters and brothers."

Tala nodded, and stepped to the side.

"And the rest of you?"

Nods were exchanged among the other four, and they moved to stand next to Solveig.

 **What a waste.**

 _I suppose it was too much to hope that they would all take our offer._

 **There are fools in every cause.**

"Where are your kin, then, that you may rest beside your ancestors?"

Solveig drew herself up proudly.

"Falkreath, Lady."

The others gave their birthplaces as well: Ivarstead, Dragons Bridge, Windhelm, Shor's Stone.

Tala made a gesture, and the five remaining weapons were collected and given back to the Stormcloaks.

"Borkul."

The big orc grabbed his massive warhammer and moved to stand next to Tala.

"Skoberth Black-Song."

There was almost a savage sigh of relief, and the ex-bard was next to her now.

"Helmmir War-Raed."

The werewolf Lord of the Hunt drew joined the three, shedding his ragged cloak.

"Caedmon Domhnaill."

A Forsworn Briarheart stepped forward, brandishing twin Bone-Blades in a whistling flourish. Icando stepped forward with him.

My queen," he muttered in a low tone. "Let me fight for you. As your Hand, it still does great honor to your enemies. If the worst should happen…"

"Then this queendom would be built upon a fragile foundation indeed, my friend," Tala smiled, patting the Dunmer on the shoulder. "But their comrades have pledged their lives to me. Therefore, their deaths must be at my hand."

Icando drew his mouth in a thin line, but stepped back, raising a hand.

"Are you ready, then?" he called to the Stormcloaks.

"Victory, or Sovngarde!" Solveig roared back in answer.

The Hand of the Queen looked back at Tala, who merely gave a nod in response. The hand came down.

"FIGHT!"

the ten combatants came together in a clashing of steel, fur, and bone. Helmmir's tackle took the his Stormcloak mid- _woge_ , the rending of cloth, leather, and flesh a testament of the young Nord's fate at the werewolf's claws and teeth. Tala dodged Solveig's savage thrust, spinning in the dirt to bring the Mace of Molag, light as a feather in her hand, full-on against the upraised shield. The wood cracked and splintered, and the Nordic woman stumbled back.

In the corner of Tala's eye, she saw Caedmon and his Stormcloak exchanging a flurry of blows, as well as a Skoberth and his dual-axe wielding opponent. Borkul and the largest Nord weren't even bothering with blocking one-another's massive blows, merely exchanging them freely, each warrior stumbling back from a blow, recovering just in time to send one of his own in return.

Solveig cast aside the ruined shield, drawing a dagger from her belt instead. But her wary stance and her close-held left arm told of broken bones and torn muscles. Tala merely twirled the blade in her off-hand, and the Mace in the other.

And smiled.

Solveig howled a war-cry of defiance, bringing her blade upwards in a slash. The Mace of Molag Bal descended like a lightning bolt from Oblivion itself, and the steel sword shattered against the divine weapon. Solveig's scream of defiance turned to one of abject pain, and she went to one knee, her right arm now also bent at a _very wrong_ angle. Tala sidestepped, spinning to gain momentum to the already-impossibly heavy weapon. Cursed metal met mortal flesh and the skull beneath it yielded, ending the life of Solveig of Falkreath in a very anti-climactic _thwack_.

Tala glanced around the battlefield. Caedmon had his opponent's sword through his chest, but the undead Briarheart had merely shoved his way down the blade to drive a sharpened-antler dagger into the Stormcloak's throat. The girl fighting Skoberth was prone on the ground, missing a head. Borkul's foe was also missing a head, albeit Tala suspected that was because it was in bloody chunks on the end of the giant orc's warhammer. Helmmir was straightening, shifting back to human form, his face and chest still wet and slick with blood.

Beyond the somber Stormcloak faces, Tala saw a cloaked figure on the ramparts of the city, looking out at the gathered crowd.

 **The Arch-Mage. No doubt she's horrified and scandalized at all this bloodshed.**

"As brave in death as they were in life," Tala stated solemnly, addressing Kottir, who stood with head bowed and hand to chest in silent prayer. The man looked up, his face heavy and his expression weary.

"Look at the fifty warriors behind you, Kottir Red-Shoal," Tala reassured, "You have saved their lives today, and led them to freedom. These here," she gestured to the prostate forms behind her, "chose the hour of their deaths, just as they ordered the hours of their lives. No Nord could ask for more."

Kottir nodded, and drew himself up tall.

"What are your orders, La… my queen?"

"There are many houses in Markarth that stand empty," Tala replied, "because their owners departed of their own free will," she was quick to clarify. "Lady Kaie will find you and your men accommodation and food today, and tomorrow you and I will meet to find you and your men honest work: to reclaim the lives that the Empire took from you."

* * *

 ***SOMETIME LATER** *

Tala approached as Sarai and the Nords were loading their carts and horses, preparing to leave. Just on the corner of the courtyard, Tala could see the Khajit mage and a Forsworn girl speaking in low and whispered tones. Their clasped hands and pressed foreheads told of night's dalliance.

"It would appear your apprentice taking at least _one_ thing from Markarth," Tala grinned. "Taking a heart, or at least gaining a sweetheart?"

Sarai rolled her eyes, passing a sack to another mage in the wagon.

"J'zargo has a sweetheart in _every_ city between Skyrim and Elswyr."

"Cats," Tala and Sarah sighed simultaneously. The two women shared a chuckle for a moment, then grew serious again.

"You really mean to do this?" Sarah asked. "Word will spread that the Reach is a safe haven for Talos-worshippers, and you'll have every ex-Stormcloak headed this way."

"As long as they're _ex-_ Stormcloaks, I have no quarrel with them, Tala shrugged. "And I mean to do what I promised: to set up a queendom where religious freedom and equality are ensured."

"By a totalitarian monarchy."

"I'm not so great a fool as to try and set up a United Jarldoms of Skyrim, if that's what you mean. But believe it or not, I was appointed queen by those I rule. I didn't _make_ myself queen."

 **That's cute, dearie.**

 _It will make her feel better about working with us._

"Whatever my misgivings about your… actions…" Sarai sighed, "I will deliver your message to Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold."

"And what will the great Arch-Mage of Winterhold counsel her Jarl to do?"

Sarai glanced sideways at her.

"You know _very well_ that Winterhold is not in any position to refuse commerce and trade. Unless we can attract settlers and investors, the people of the hold face poverty and starvation. I have no doubt you'll find Winterhold iron in your markets shortly."

"It's a long journey from Winterhold to Markarth," Tala warned.

"I've offered to send mages to accompany the caravans as added protection. So far, it's proven enough to scare off most of the bandit groups. Steel and sword they can handle. Magic still has an unnerving effect."

"And there's not too many bandit mages out there," Tala grinned.

"Exactly," Sarai nodded, "And mages taking an active role in the hold will go far in repairing good relations in the eyes of the populace. We've been isolated for too long. Time we got involved in our own homes."

"Well, I wish you luck with that," Tala shrugged.

"It was… good to meet you in person, Tala Niwot."

"And you, Arch-Mage."

Sarai turned to climb onto the wagon.

"Oh, Sarai?"

"Tell Llewellyn and Isran _when_ you see them that any Dawnguard member who kills a vampire within the Reach will stand trial for murder. But also, any werewolf or vampire who preys upon a citizen of the Reach will suffer the same fate."

Sarai smiled wryly.

"Equality…I will tell them, but I cannot be responsible for what they chose to do with that information."

Tala nodded silently in confirmation.

The Arch-Mage clicked her tongue and flicked the traces. The horse pulled forward, followed by the Whiterun envoys. Nelkir and Tala exchanged friendly grins and nods before the boy turned his horse to fall in with the rest of his uncle's escort.

"We have not seen the last of them," Serana warned as the last horse faded from sight.

"Probably not," Tala agreed. "The time will probably come when we will have to fight them, in point of fact."

She sighed, feeling exhausted all of the sudden.

"But not today, at least."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So, yes, some Stormcloaks have joined the Vodahmin, on the condition that they no longer _be_ Stormcloaks. Or racists.**

 **How successful will that be? Only time will tell.**

 **ROCK ON, everyone!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Pietersielie – I LOVE 'Into the Maelstrom' and came up with Sarah's character almost as an antithesis to the concept of Aurora Nova's OCI.

Tech Warrior Ender – Appreciate reveiwers like you to keep me out of OP-territory. It won't be a walk in the park for Tala Niwot and her _Vodahmin_ , I can promise that.

Draco Oblivion, Lord Mortem, hopelessromantic34, METALHELLSPWN, Guest – In the words of a great woman: 'The future is not set in stone: there is no fate but that which we make for ourselves.'

JimmyHall24, deferad – Yep. If you build it, they will come.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – Yeah, I think Sarah's reaction would have been MUCH different if she had realized that they're also dealing with the Wolf-Queen of Solitude.

Guest – We have not seen the last of the Dark Brotherhood. And if you think Babette and Nazir got word that there was a kingdom were all could live in worship, regardless of religion, what do YOU think they would do? *wink

KingHoborg – AS long as it's not Kathryn Merteuil.

DeliciousCookie, SmilingSeshat, ranma hibiki – Thanks! I really appreciate that! :D


	19. Chapter 19: Next Moves

***WHITERUN*  
SKYRIM**

Four children sat under the shade of the Gildergreen, its blossoms granting them shade from the midday sun. Nelkir Balgruufson was standing by the tree, regaling the seated three with tales of his adventures in the Reach with his uncle. Not a few adults also lounged causally nearby, trying not to appear _too_ interested in the children's' conversation.

"And then she said that I was 'always welcome at her court.'"

"Liar," scoffed his older brother Frothar. "She did not!

"She did!" Nelkir insisted, raising two fingers. "Or may The Lady strike me down!"

"You shouldn't swear by a Daedra, Nelkir!" the young girl objected.

"Why, Sofie? Are you _scared_?" mocked Nelkir.

"Of Daedra? Of course I am, and you'd be too, if you were so _thick_."

Nelkir's look darkened, but before he could say anything, another girl came running up to the seated group.

"What is it, Dagny?" Frothar asked. To see his usually-dainty sister _running_ meant that something extraordinary indeed had happened.

"A raven just came from Morthal," wheezed the girl, pausing to get her breath after her run down the _many_ steps of Dragonsreach. "I heard Father and your _dad_ talking about it with the Arch-Mage. And you'll never guess what message it carried…"

" _Dagny_ …" moaned Sofie. "You didn't come running down here just to _not tell us_."

"Old Idgrod Ravencrone has stepped down as Jarl of Haafingar!" exclaimed the Jarl's daughter with the air of self-importance that only a teenager with gravely important news can convey. "Her daughter is taking her place!"

"What?!" Frothar exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "But she's only a few years older than me!"

"Oh, _please_ ," Nelkir rolled his eyes. "Idgrod is _eighteen_ and you're _fifteen_."

"That's only _three_ years' difference!" insisted Alesan, Llewellyn Dragonborn's adopted son. "Plus… your father is the Jarl of the largest hold in Skyrim, not a marshland like Morthal."

"When I become Jarl, I'll make you my thane, Alesan!" insisted Frothar, grinning broadly.

"No thanks," laughed the adopted son of the Dragonborn. "I'm going to join the Companions. Farkas says that I'm getting better with the sword every day!"

"Before you two get ahead of yourselves," Nelkir interrupted. "Everybody knows that Father would name Uncle Hrongar Jarl. He's not _stupid_ enough to leave Whiterun to _you_ , Milk-Drinker."

Frothar responded by tackling his brother to the ground, with Alesan whooping and jumping into the scuffle and his "shield-brother's" aid. Dagny and Sofie stood off to the side, eyeing their brothers' wrestling match dubiously.

"Ugh… boys."

"Their lives are simpler, aren't they?" Sarai Gellarus grinned, watching the scuffle from one of windows of Dragonsreach.

"Perhaps," shrugged Llewellyn. "They'll have to bear our burdens soon enough. Let them be children for now."

"True enough, damn the gods," Balgruuf agreed, but the two men took a moment to look down and smile at their children's merriment. Apparently, the struggle had shifted from the Gildergreen into one of the pools at the foot of the stairs, and the boys were taking turns dunking each other under the water or splashing water at the squealing girls.

"So," Llewellyn sighed, turning back to the matter at hand. "Morthal?"

Sarai nodded.

"It could be Idgrod the Elder setting herself up for a nomination to the Jagged Crown."

Balgruuf choked on the wine he had poured for himself.

"You are joking?" he exclaimed between coughs.

The Arch-Mage shrugged her shoulders.

"The Ravencrone family is one of the oldest families in Skyrim," Proventus answered. "They _do_ command respect."

"Respect?" scoffed the Jarl of Whiterun, pouring himself more wine. "Her 'visions' and 'prophecies' have cost her much of that respect."

"True," admitted the steward, "But Igmund was one of your largest supporters. With him gone…"

"I don't _want_ the Jagged Crown," Balgruuf objected. "I never _have!"_

"But what is the alternative?" the Dragonborn asked. "Elisif is Torygg' s widow, yes, but she was _born_ in the Imperial City, for Talos' sake. It will _confirm_ every Stormcloak's fear of a Skyrim ruled from Cyrodiil. Brunwulf has done much to calm Eastmarch, but even he'd be hard-pressed to keep the peace with High Queen Elisif on the throne."

"Even worse will be if she accepts _Siddgeir's_ offer of marriage to try to appease the Nords," Sarai added.

The room shared a communal moment of dread at the prospect of the foolish young Jarl of Falkreath as High King of Skyrim.

"And the Empire will never accept Free-Winter, an ex-Stormcloak, as High King," Sarai continued. "And Brina and Maven are too new. The other holds resent them as Imperial-appointed usurpers, and not a few of their own people."

"What about Kraldar?" Proventus asked.

Sarai shook her head.

"He doesn't even want to be the Jarl of Winterhold. He'll vote for whoever he thinks will bring the most benefit to his people."

"Same with Maven," Llewellyn agreed. "She runs the Rift like her own little empire. She's looking for whoever can profit the Black-Briar family the most."

"Which Elisif and her Imperial connections could do for both," sighed Irileth, looking down at the map. "And Brina Merilis will vote for whoever General Tullius tells her to. Her bond with the Legion is still strong."

"Elisif…" mused Balgruuf. "Damn it all, I like the woman well enough, and she's done right by Haafingar, but… as High _Queen_ of all Skyrim..." he sighed deeply. "We might as well give _Tullius_ the Jagged Crown and do away with the farce of the office altogether."

"There is… another alternative, my lord," Proventus offered.

All eyes and ears turned to the Steward of Whiterun.

"Offer _your_ hand in marriage to Jarl Elisif."

Everyone sat up a _little_ straighter.

"Wh…wha…What?!"

"She is young, but she is no fool," Proventus continued. "Everything we've mentioned here I'm sure is being discussed right now in the Blue Palace. She and Tullius don't want another rebellion any more than we do, and I'm sure she relishes the thought of being married to Jarl Siddgeir even _less._ "

Balgruuf blinked, and then took a deep drink of wine as the idea settled in.

"Without fear of flattery, my Jarl," Sarai spoke up, "You are one of the most respected men in the entire kingdom. The Nords know your opinion of the Thalmor and your desire to keep Skyrim free of Imperial interference."

"And the Empire knows of your refusal to join Ulfric Stormcloak," Llewellyn Dragonborn nodded. "It was done in the Old Way, between two rulers of honor. Songs are still sung of the Siege of Whiterun, and how you held off the Stormcloak army, led by the Bear-Lord himself."

"As I recall," Balgruuf gave the Dragonborn a look, "There is _another_ figure that features _slightly more_ in those songs."

"The point is," Llewellyn continued, flushing _slightly_ , "Tullius and the Empire won't object if you turned out to be the husband of Elisif the Fair _and_ High King of Skyrim."

"But… I can't rule Whiterun from Solitude," Balgruuf objected, "Frothar is a good boy, but… but he's not _ready_."

"Name Hrongar Jarl Protector," Irileth suggested. "At least until Frothar comes of age. He's not ambitious, and will do right by the people of Whiterun."

"Well… well," Balgruuf continued to sputter, "We're getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren't we? I haven't even decided to _ask_ for her hand, much less if she would even accept. It would mean that she'd be the _wife_ of the High King, which is not quite the same."

"It's an office she's held before," Proventus shrugged. "And not one without considerable influence and power of its own, on top of her position as Jarl of Solitude. In addition, her children by _you_ would be first in line to inherit the Jarldom of Haafingar."

"Her...her _what?"_

"You're a young man still, my Jarl," Irileth shrugged, but the usually serious housecarl had a grin on her face. "And she is a _beautiful_ young woman, is she not?"

It was all the Dragonborn and Arch-Mage could do not to laugh at the Jarl of Whiterun's red face and embarrassed stuttering.

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER** *  
 **BREEZEHOME**

"Do you think he'll do it?" Sarah Gellar asked, passing another bundle of clothes to Lewis Heron, who nodded in reply.

"I think he'll spend a few days sputtering and stammering about it, but he'll come around," Lewis answered. He reached down and pulled up a mask from the bottom of the chest. The face of Miraak stared back at him in the reflection, or so he thought for an instant.

"Taking that back to Honeyside?" Sarah asked, putting an arm around him from behind.

He nodded, reaching up to squeeze her hand.

"Too add to the rest of the other trophies..." he sighed, then shook himself. "I've got to go that way to meet with Isran, anyway," he continued, bringing himself back to the present, and he was Llewellyn Dragonborn once again. "The Companions and the Thieves' Guild will join with the Dawnguard in fighting this threat."

"Meaning Harkon or Tala?"

Llewellyn paused.

"Whoever stands in our way. The bow of Auri-El is not something you want to fall into the wrong hands. This… Tala thinks she can treat this world like it's her own playground."

"She seems like she's got a good head on her shoulders," Sarai offered.

"I didn't say she was foolish," Llewellyn answered, "Merely reckless. I think she's been extremely lucky. Her presence has disrupted enough already."

"Says the man who brought the Guild, the Blades, AND the companions into the Stormcloak War."

"Hey, the games had saves and cheat codes," Lewis objected with mock severity. "I, on the other hand, am disgustingly mortal. I'll take as much help as I can accumulate, thank you very much."

He placed the mask in the chest and shut the lid.

"And not to mention that Savos Aren died in _Labyrinthian_ and not in the College," he added. "And on top of all that, you got the Eye of Magnus out of the College without the Thalmor even knowing it existed!"

"I needed Ancarion at the College," Sarai shrugged. "Still do. He's the only link we have now to the Thalmor and their activities. With the Embassy gone, he's now the highest-ranking Thalmor in Skyrim."

"True," nodded Llewellyn. "Oh, god. I hadn't thought of that. Be careful around him, Sarah."

"I haven't got this far by being foolish," she chided gently.

Llewellyn smiled, and then sighed as he took Dragonbane down from its perch on the wall.

"As soon as I finish meeting with Isran and the others, I'll come by the College," he promised.

The smile on Sarai's face faded, replaced by lines of worry.

"I… don't know if that's a good idea," she replied uneasily. "The Thalmor don't know about… us yet. I'd like to keep it that way if possible."

Now it was Lewis' turn to grow serious.

"I… I understand," he said finally, "I… the children will miss you."

Sarai came up behind him and pulled him around to face her.

"And I'll miss you too, you big lump," she said, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

"You know," Llewellyn said, after this kiss had deepened, ended, and repeated itself several times, "If you're _that_ concerned about keeping us a secret, I could always ask Ysolda to come over."

There was a valiant fight to suppress a giggle, and Sarai brought a clenched fist up to hit his chest playfully.

"You do and I'll this house down around your ears."

"But the children!" teased Llewellyn, pulling her closer.

"They'll probably _help_."

" _Sigh…_ You're probably right."

"Will they go back to Riften with you?" the Arch-Mage asked.

The Dragonborn shook his head.

"If all the cities, I think they like Whiterun the best. Sofie and Alesan have a good group of friends here."

"I noticed that Sofie and Lucia have been spending an awful lot of time together," Sarai observed.

Llewellyn thought about that for a moment.

"They're closer in age than any of the other girls in this city," he shrugged.

Sarai Gellarus shot her lover/Fellow-Traveler a look.

"What?"

"Just making sure you're not adopting half the orphans of Skyrim."

"Lucia? No. The city has come together because of her. Grey-Mane and Battle-born alike have a sweet spot for the girl. And Ysolda has hired her on to help with her new store."

"And you didn't have any hand in _that_ , I'm sure."

"I just made a suggestion!"

"Lewis," Sarai groaned, "a suggestion from the Dragonborn is a command to anyone else. Besides, she's another one of your exes, isn't she?"

There was no small amount of awkward shuffling on Lewis' part.

"It was a long time ago," he said," We've both moved on. She and Mikael are happy, and they'll be good for Lucia."

There was a quite moment in the room, then Llewellyn Dragonborn moved to drag the chest out of the upstairs bedroom.

"Plus, there're fewer safer places in all Tamriel I can leave them than in the city of the Companions."

Sarai laughed in agreement.

"Farkas and Vilkas have thrown themselves into their roles as the favorite uncles. But what about Aela?"

Llewellyn's laugh died, replaced by grave sorrow. He shook his head.

"She made her choice. We all gave up the wolf. It's time the companions got along with the blessings of a Daedric Lord. We all agreed to it."

"Everyone except her," Sarai said gently.

The Harbinger of the Companions nodded.

"Vilkas thinks I should cast her out of the Companions for defying my orders. But.. but…"

There was a great deal _more_ awkward shuffling.

"I know," Sarai nodded, "There's too much history there."

Llewellyn Dragonborn turned and took her hands in his own.

"Sarah," he murmured gently. "I love you, and no other. But my past is still my past."

"I understand," Sarah patted Lewis on the cheek. "Plus, if I insisted you stay away from _every_ woman you've ever slept with, there wouldn't be a city in Skyrim you could stay in."

"That's true," Lewis agreed, smiling, which earned him another playful punch.

"Ass."

* * *

 ***NORTHWATCH KEEP*  
HAAFINGAR  
SKYRIM**

"This demands a response from us!"

Three Thalmor agents, two Altmer women and a male Bosmer, huddled around the table, maps and documents spread out between them.

"Not from us, Celera," the Bosmer insisted. "We will wait for orders from the Crystal Tower."

"That could take weeks, Varnde!" Celera objected. "By then, those… _Heretai_ will be firmly entrenched in those mountainous ruins."

The Altmer word for "blasphemer" was a spat curse.

"This decree," Celera continued, tapping the scroll in question, "flies in the face of everything the Thalmor stand for. Freedoms to worship anyone and anything? _Herai_! Blasphemy!"

"It's perfect."

Celera and Varnde turned to the hitherto-silent third robed figure.

"What?" Celera exclaimed incredulously.

"You see something we do not, Loriann?" Varnde asked, raising an eyebrow. "Please, share."

Loriann stood and placed a finger down on the map.

" _This_ kingdom stands in direct defiance of the White-Gold Concordat," she explained. "If the Empire moves against them, it will be a long and bloody campaign of mountain fighting and hit and run attacks. And if they do NOT move against them…."

"The Thalmor would recognize the Concordat to be in abeyance," Varnde finished for her, understanding where she was going with this train of thought.

"And the Great Purge would resume," Celera added, grinning almost lustfully.

"In the meantime, the loss of the revenue of the gold mines of Markarth Side will be a severe blow to the Empire," Loriann waved dismissively. "And when the war begins, every legion and legionnaire sent north will be that fewer troops that can resist us in Cyrodiil or Hammerfell."

"So, what does that mean for us?"

"It means, dear Varnde," answered Loriann, adopting a condescending tone, "that until we receive direct orders to the contrary from the Crystal Tower, we are going to become best friends with this…" she glanced at the rolled-up parchment again, "…Tala Niwot and her _Vodahmin_. It was Thalmor gold that financed Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebellion. It will be Thalmor blades that will bring down this half-savage Breton mountain-queen. And an internal power-struggle within the empire can only profit us in the long run, and bring us one step closer to the Great Ascendancy of the Aldmeri Dominion."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, more and more people are taking note of Taltema's little queendom in the Reach, and Lewis and Sarah are having to adapt their strategies to stay relevant in the Nirn Universe. In addition, as the established gameplay storyline comes to an end, they will have to improvise more and more.**

 **Let me know what you think! Leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in a review or in a PM! It always makes my day to hear from you all!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24, Guest - Stay tuned: the next wave of refugees arriving in the Reach might very well have picked up a lost "child"... and maybe a stranded jester or two?

Envoy991, Guest - Thanks! Hope you'll keep reading and sharing your thoughts!

griezz - I have a strong feeling we're done with Sarah Michelle-Geller jokes just yet.

METALHELLSPWN, KingHoborg - God, I disliked Isran, too. I mean, I loved his inclusion in the story, but the game did a wonderful job of making him a tough guy to actually get along with (which makes his comrades' reasons for leaving him in the past that much more believable). But essentially the whole time i was like, "If the game didn't _actually require_ you to be here, I'm pretty sure I could kill you, and everybody in this castle would thank me for it."

Thanks for the awesome reviews, you guys! ROCK ON!


	20. Chapter 20: Rifts and Reunions

***IMPERIAL LEGION CAMP*  
** **THE RIFT  
** **SKYRIM**

A legionnaire ran up to the command tent in the military camp.

"Legates!" he said breathlessly, hurriedly saluting. "He's here!"

"Who?" asked Legate Fasendil, rising from a cot in the corner.

"Who do you think?" Legate Caessenius asked, buckling on his sword-belt. "Tullius' _favorite_ , of course."

"I wouldn't call myself _that_ ," a voice came from just outside the door. The flap was pulled back, and Llewellyn Hereon strode into the tent. "That would require the Old Man to actually _possess_ emotions."

Caessenius reddened, but he made an Imperial salute, the same as his Altmer counterpart.

"Legate."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Adventus," the 'Hero of the Empire' replied, returning the salute. "We're all the same rank. Do we really want to spend the next ten minutes saluting one another and 'Legate this' and 'Legate that'?"

"In that case, it's good to see you, Llewellyn," Fasendil chuckled, stepping forward to clasp arms with the Dragonborn. Adventus bristled at the informality of it all, but followed suite. A commotion outside the tent resulted in a mustached Nord in fine robes enter the tent.

"Hemming Black-Briar?" Llewellyn started, "I'm surprised to see you out here…"

The Steward of Riften made a slight nod at the Dragonborn.

"The Jarl wishes to see this unfortunate business ended," he said in answer, "To which she sent me at the head of a company of Riften auxiliaries…"

"Your Mother sent you and a group of your _thugs_ to correct her mistake," Caessenius retorted. "I mean, _honestly:_ you thought _Laila Law-Giver_ would just go and sit happily somewhere in exile?"

Hemming Black-Briar drew himself up haughtily with an air of affronted dignity.

" _At the time,_ mercy was thought to be –"

"Enough!" Llewellyn cut in. "This is not helping."

"This might, though."

The tent's occupants spun towards a dark corner of the tent, where the outline of a woman could be seen sitting. Llewellyn took his hand off his sword-hilt.

"Sapphire."

The young thief chuckled as she stood, giving her very best curtsey, the effect somewhat ruined by her wearing leather armor.

"Dragonborn."

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"The jarl has put out a bounty on any information on the Stormcloak army."

The young woman reached a hand into her jerkin and pulled out a small scroll.

"I've come to collect."

Hemming Black-Briar cleared his throat. "I would… I would need to see the information first."

"Of course."

The scroll was tossed to the Dragonborn, who unrolled it and set it out on the table, examining it by the light of the lantern on the table.

"This is a map of the layout of the Stormcloak camp," he commented, which brought Fasendil and Caessenius over to look at it closely. "Where did you find this?"

"Easy," Sapphire shrugged, "Walked in and took it."

"Where?" Fasendil asked, without looking up. "How long ago?"

"I have a feeling that _that_ information is going to cost you extra," Llewellyn commented dryly, raising an eyebrow at Hemming Black-Briar. The overly well-dressed man grunted, and pulled a bag of money from his inside his own robe, tossing it to the thief. Sapphire felt the weight in her hand, and winked at the Dragonborn.

"Just east of Ivarstead," she said, "North of Treva's Watch. I came _straight_ here from there."

"Makes sense," Iona shrugged from behind Llewellyn. "When Leila was Jarl, she made Stalleo a Thane. Treva's Watch is his family home."

"We'll have to act fast," Fasendil thought aloud. "We can get the troops together and move out at dawn…"

As the other three men broke into excited plan-making, Llewellyn took a step closer to the leather-clad thief.

"Good work," he grinned.

"Anytime… _boss,"_ Sapphire replied in a low tone, smiling as she pocketed the pouch of gold.

"And _this_ is yours also," Llewellyn added, pulling out a square of paper from his own armor.

"What is this?"

"A letter from a Guild member I ran into on Solstheim," Llewellyn answered. "He said he knew you and to give you the letter."

Sapphire furrowed her brows in puzzlement.

"What does it say?"

Llewellyn shrugged.

"I didn't read it. It wasn't meant for me."

Sapphire shot her Guild Master a strange look, then turned to leave the tent, nearly colliding with Lydia as she entered, and behind Lydia was…

"Hadvar!" Llewellyn shouted in pleasant surprise.

The Nord was dressed in Akaviri Blades armor, but still bore an Imperial gladius on his hip. The two comrades embraced.

"The temple?" asked Hadvar after a moment.

"Everyone's safe, last we heard," Lewis answered, clasping Hadvar on the shoulder. "They haven't made any moves against Sky Haven."

Hadvar of Riverwood relaxed visibly.

"Thank the gods for that. Of course, don't know _why_ I'm worried: I can always ask for my old job in the legions back."

Lewis laughed at that.

"What, tired of being a Blade already?"

Hadvar gave himself an appraising glance.

"The armor is nice," he admitted, "but those curved swords are ridiculous."

"He has a point, my Thane," Iona added, grinning along with the others.

"You're both insane," Llewellyn Dragon-born replied in mock-offended tones. "This is the sword that slew Alduin the World-Eater!"

"By sheer luck, no doubt," Lydia ribbed, standing beside Iona. "Remember, none of us were _actually_ there with you."

The comrades shared a laugh for a moment, including the Dragonborn.

"Will we push on to Fort Dawnguard, my friend?" Hadvar asked.

Llewellyn shook head.

"Isran can wait a day, at least. We have a chance to put an end to the last vestiges of Ulfric Stormcloak's madness."

The ex-legionnaire and the two housecarls grinned at the decision, always eager for a fight.

"And the sooner that's done," Lewis added, "the sooner we can deal with Tala Niwot and her Foresworn-Vampire army. See to the horses, and get my heavy Armor ready."

The Dragonborn turned back to rejoin the others at table.

"Fasendil, Adventus: bring me up to speed."

* * *

 ***MARKARTH** ***  
** **THE REACH  
** **SKYRIM**

"More refugees, my lady."

Kaie and Tala watched as the train of wagons came to a halt outside the city, the various travelers dismounting horses, or standing by their carts.

"More and more are coming in every day," Tala commented, casting her eye over the newest group of arrivals. There were Nords, for the most part, though Tala could make out a few more Breton-looking individuals, and a few Redguards as well. Even more surprising were the Dunmer and Bosmer immigrants, some of these with families and small children.

 _Fleeing the Red Mountain Eruption even this far?_

 **More likely fleeing Nordic pig-headedness, and the tensions left over after the Rebellion.**

 _No doubt a few of those Bosmer are Thalmor agents._

 **It's just as likely as that Argonian over there being an An-Xileel agent. You didn't think they'd overlook us, did you?**

 _No. I just wish -_

"It'll be a shift to find accommodation for them all, my queen," Kaie commented warily, inadvertently interrupting her queens' train of thought.

"It's a good problem to have, Kaie," sighed Tala. "Employ those who you can in Cidhna Mine, now that _that's_ no longer a prison, and send the overflow towards Old Hroldan. Eydis and Leontius Salvius have more than enough of their grain stores to spare."

"They won't thank us for sending them more mouths to feed," the city steward warned.

"Perhaps not," shrugged Tala. "But they _will_ thank us for sending more hands to help in with the stockade. They will be needed there if they're going to get their walls built before winter sets in. I would like crossroads established as a full village to control the passage south."

"We may have to call it 'Hroldan' then," grinned Kaie.

Tala returned her smile.

"Old Ones willing," she nodded. "What do you think about "New Hroldan?"

Before Kaie could answer, there came the unmistakable sound of clashing steel. Archers along the wall nocked their arrows at the sound of the struggle breaking out down below. Tala groaned, then turned, her bodyguard closing ranks around her as she made her way off the wall and through the open city gate.

As they drew close to the source of the disturbance, the crowd parted like chaff before a strong wind in front of them. Finally, the scene was before them: an older grey-haired Khajit was laying on the ground, his arm slashed open from wrist to elbow. Three other Khajit stood in front of him, daggers drawn. Facing off from them, with curved sword drawn, was a black-robed Redguard, a young child standing just behind him.

 _No way…_

"What is the meaning of this?!" bellowed Skoberth Black-Song, advancing with blade drawn. At the sight of so many armed men, the Khajit and the Redguard dropped their weapons.

"They attempted to rob us, your Majesty!" Nazir said, raising his hands slowly.

Tala turned to the Khajit, who were all kneeling with their hands on their heads.

"You all know the fate of criminals in Markarth," she said coldly.

"A misunderstanding, my queen," the old cat grunted, pulling himself up to a sitting position, "Boras and his sons have been helping travelers unload their carts. We came to offer our services, and the red one drew his curved blade and attempted to _kill_ Boras!"

"If I'd wanted to _kill_ you, cat, _trust_ me: you wouldn't be alive to complain about it," Nazir commented, grinning wryly.

"If I may, my queen?"

Cedran, the stable-master of Markarth, stepped forward, doffing his cap respectfully. Tala nodded at the old Breton.

"Barba does not lie, my queen," the stable master reported. "I often employ him and his sons to unload caravans at the stables. While they may have been a bit… ahem, _over-eager_ , I have never known them to steal from anyone."

Tala nodded, then turned back and stepped towards the injured Khajit, who eyed the wicked-looking mace at the queen's waist. Tala reached out a hand, and a healing spell spread across the Khajit's arm, binding the torn tissue back together.

"In the future, Boras," Tala said gently, but offering a reassuring smile, "you may wish to settle the question of pay _before_ unloading any travelers' carts."

The soft-furred Khajit marveled at his arm, then bowed deeply.

"You speak with the wisdom of the sands themselves, my queen."

"Go then," Tala said, "there are, no doubt, other travelers that will be glad of your help."

Boras and his sons got to their feet and made their way quickly into the dissipating crowd. Tala then turned her gaze on the other offending party.

"Now, who are you, my quick-tempered swordsman?" she asked, already knowing the answer of course, but curious as to what answer she would receive.

"My queen," Nazir said, bowing gracefully, "My name is Nazir of Rihad, and this is my daughter…"

Potema held up a hand.

" _ **Spare**_ **me, Redguard. That _girl_ is no more a child than I am**."

Nazir and Babette made no answer, but Nazir's hands lowered, disappearing into his robe's sleeves, where Tala did not doubt multiple daggers were concealed. But then, to _everyone's_ surprise, Tala spread her hands wide, and _bowed_ respectfully.

"I bid you welcome to Markarth, Lady Babette."

The child vampire raised an eyebrow in surprise, but the bow was returned.

"I thank you, your majesty," she replied gracefully. "Have… we met before?"

"Babbie!"

At the high pitched shout, Nazir seemed to roll his eyes, but then a very familiar figure bounded into view.

"It can't be…" Tala murmured quietly.

The jester took a knee beside the Un-Child.

"Cicero heard that people were being cruel to his friends!"

It was as much a question as it was a statement, but Babette smiled and patted the jester on the arm.

"It's quite alright, dear Cicero," she said calmly. "Everything's settled. Quite politely, in point of fact."

"Oh, good. Cicero is glad of that," the sing-song voice of the jester replied. "He does make a _point_ to hate rude people so."

"And is your Mother here also, Cicero?"

 _That_ got Babette's attention, and a hand drifted back down to the small dagger at her waist, but Cicero simply shot to his feet and turned to answer Tala's question.

" _Indeed so,_ lady," he laughed. " _Indeed_ so. She is here. But that is to say, she is _everywhere_ and _nowhere_ all the same! Ha ha, ho ho, hee hee!"

Skoberth and the rest of the assembled crowed cast dubious looks at one another as Cicero broke into a giggling fit, and then into a crazed, haphazard dance. Tala, on the other hand, grinned.

"Lady Kaie."

"My Queen?"

"Take an escort and bring the coffin of Cicero's Mother into the Understone Keep, where it will be kept in all honor."

Tala turned back to the Un-Child.

"Lady Babette… you _Family_ is more than welcome here in the Reach. I hope you can rebuild the ties of family and _brotherhood_ here in our fair city."

Even Nazir was grinning now. Cicero covered his mouth and bent down to whisper theatrically.

"Oh, ho, ho, she is a clever one, this lady! Cicero likes her!"

Babette cocked her head, then answered:

"I think I do too, Cicero. Lady Tala, we are honored by your invitation, and do graciously accept."

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER*  
UNDERSTONE KEEP **

Chief Burguk, clan leader of the orcish settlement of Dushnikh Yal, reclined in the chair opposite the Keeper of the Mournful Throne. He wasn't used to being _summoned_ , but the wording of the invitation had been infinitely polite, as a request from an equal, rather than the few ignored messages he'd received from Jarl Igmund in the past. Even more convincing was the attached note from Moth and Ghorza gro-Bagol, naming Tala Niwot "Orc-Friend" and worthy of an orc's trust.

"I am a simple Orsimer, Tala Niwot," he said, taking a goblet of ale in his hand. "What is it exactly you're hoping to accomplish from this?"

"To help you in taking back your homeland, of course."

Burguk set the goblet back down with a bang, staring long and hard at the small but imposing Redguard woman.

"The Orsimer are divided and scattered across three kingdoms," he said slowly. "Even assuming you _could_ gather them together to retake Orsinium, to do so would be to declare war against the Empire itself."

"No more than the Bretons declared war by invading another loyal province of the Empire," Tala shrugged, pouring herself more wine, then surprising Burguk further by walking around the long table and pulling up a seat to sit _beside_ him.

"Titus Mede did nothing, because Titus Mede _could_ do nothing. I have the Septims of Shornhelm and the Redguards of Hammerfell with me. Together, we could give your people a home once again."

Burguk blinked slowly, then took another drink.

"Why?" he asked. "What do _you_ gain from it?

That's simple," Tala said, taking the bottle and refilling her and the orc chief's cups. "I'd rather have my back guarded by Orc blades and valor, rather than trust in Breton Imperial underlings to maintain any kind of truce. Likewise, you get a neighbor of your own that you can count on to trade with you in times of peace, and fight alongside you in time of war."

Burguk grunted in answer. The orc tribes hadn't gathered in force for the better part of a century. It was a _bold_ plan, a _crazy_ plan.

He liked it.

"Bretons, Redguards, and Orcs," he said slowly. "It's the Daggerfell Covenant all over again, isn't it?"

Tala smiled at the 'simple' orc's intimate knowledge of political history.

"Malacath willing," she nodded, then held out her glass.

"Only the strong will rule," she said simply.

Burguk grinned and toasted the ruler with his own goblet.

"Only the strong will rule," he repeated, and drained his cup, Tala Niwot doing the same.

Outside the keep, in the marketplace, a minstrel set out a cap in which passersby in the busy market could drop the odd coin in return for his singing, then did a last-second check to ensure his instrument was tuned correctly. Then he took a deep breath, and a familiar tune sounded out across the marketplace:

" _We'll drink to our youth, and to days come and gone.  
For the Age of Oppression is now nearly done." _

There was a noticeable pause in the everyday traffic. Breton as the city's rulers may have been, everyone knew the Stormcloak song when they heard it.

 _"We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own.  
With our blood and our steel we'll take back our home."_

A few Forsworn began making their way towards the offending minstrel, hands straying towards their weapons.

 _"All hail to Tala, our gallant High Queen!  
Who watches over the Vodahmin!" _

At this, more people began to stop and listen. _This_ was a new version of the song: one they had not heard before. There was an Imperial version of the song, of course, but this… this was different.

" _We're the children of the Old Ones, and we fight all our lives.  
And when Sithis beckons, every one of us dies!_

 _But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean.  
and here we'll rebuild our hopes and our dreams!_

We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone.

 _For the Age of Oppression is over and done!"_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Here you go: The Family has come to Markarth, and Tala is assembling more and more allies to her cause. Titus Mede II has no shortage of enemies, though it looks like at least one of them may be dealt with soon.**

 **Hope you guys will keep reading and reviewing! Let me know what you think so far, and where you see this story going in the future! Ideas and suggestions are always welcome!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

hopelessromantic34: I hope I did not disappoint, and we'll have more conversations with the Dark Brotherhood in the chapters to come!

JimmyHall24 – There is certainly a level of hypocrisy involved. They don't want anybody _else_ to alter the game's events.

And yes, Elisif is _definitely_ underestimated by everyone around her.

Pietersielie, METALHELLSPWN, Tech Warrior Ender – Juggling political enemies is something that Potema has excelled at all of her considerable life.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – I think a _lot_ of people in Tamriel would be panicked if they knew Potema Septim was involved!

Speaker-to-Customers – I would agree, but Potema has her sights set a _bit_ higher. But who knows? Anything is possible when you go off-script!

Keep up the awesome thoughts and suggestions, everybody! Rock ON!


	21. Chapter 21: Underground

***NCHUAND-ZEL** **UNDERCITY*  
MARKARTH  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

"The hunting of Nimhe was just the start."

Vighar crossed his arms, the ancient vampire looking over the expanse of the Dwemer city of Nchuand-Zel with Tala.

"If Calcelmo and that _Dragonborn_ had any brains between them, they would have known that you must burn out the _whole_ nest, not just kill the Mother."

Tala smiled at the Nord.

"Well then," she smiled, "I'm glad that your soldiers were more thorough. How much of the city has been cleared?"

"Not all," Vighar confessed, "We have the markets, the armory, and the entire Upper City closed off and sealed. I've had my soldiers examining every nook and alleyway to ensure there are no secret passageways still remaining. With more of the refugees coming in every day, the security of the city is my first priority.

"I expected nothing less, Vighar."

"Those damned Dwarven automations still patrol the lowest levels. However, on your command, I am more than content to wall them off and let them patrol those areas in peace."

"Make it so," agreed Tala. "If anything, they will serve to keep the Falmer at bay."

"At the very least, it will cause them to lose most of any retaliatory force they bring back," nodded Vighar. "The Falmer are not to be underestimated: Alone, they are weak and easily swept aside. However, get a dozen together, or a score…"

"And the threat they pose is compounded," Tala completed. "Much like our little family, no?"

"Indeed, my Lady."

"Now, what else?"

"The discovery of the Armory has been an incalculable boon," the Lord of the Undercity continued. "Whatever else can be speculated on the Dwemer, they made good armor, and damn good weapons. The metal from the automatons we or the Falmer succeeded in disabling is being sent back up to the Keep."

"To be used in the making of more Crossbows," grinned Tala.

"Indeed my Lady."

Tala's eyes shifted from green to blue.

" **It was… it was not easy to be parted from you, Vighar,"** Potema said, reaching out to place a hand on the old warrior's arm. " **Your absence was keenly felt… at the end."**

Vigha winced, and expression became one of pained remembrance.

"It was harder for me, my queen: to sit alone in a ruined tower, cut off and with no chance to reaching your side."

The former Jarl of Falkreath closed his eyes and sighed.

"Harder still to see the fate of the Empire," he continued, "to see the Ruby Throne entrusted to weak and petty men. To see my home, the once noble hold of Falkreath, reduced to a squalid gathering of huts in the forest."

" **You came when I returned,** " Potema said, patting the ancient hand, **"I will remember that, my friend."**

"We _must_ succeed here, Your Majesty," Vighar spoke breathlessly, squeezing his queen's hand in return. "To restore what once was: what _should have been_!"

" **Fret not, old friend,"** Potema smiled, **"I have not come to fire, death, and blood to be content with a small corner of my rightful lands. We shall see all put to right, ere the end."**

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER** *****

"So it's confirmed, then?"

Kottir Red-Shoal nodded at the scroll in front of Tala.

"That is a copy of an official Imperial dispatch, copied by one of my contacts in Dragon Bridge. The last of the Stormcloaks have been routed, just above Treva's Watch. The official report of course gives the _Dragonborn_ full credit. Supposedly, he intervened at the critical moment of the battle, using the power of the Voice to drive back the Stormcloak ranks."

Tala rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. The Dragonborn couldn't _possibly_ pass up an opportunity to be the Hero of the Empire."

"Gonnar Oath-Giver is fallen, and Unmid Snow-Shod has been captured."

"For a fair trial and a fair execution, no doubt," Kaie scoffed.

Nestor shook his head.

"No… his brother is a close trader and business partner to Maven Black-Briar. It's more likely he'll serve a token prison sentence and then be released to his brother's custody."

"And Laila Law-Giver?"

Kottir shook his head.

"She was not among those who surrendered, nor was she among the slain."

"At least not that Maven Black-Briar is announcing," Nestor said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't put it past the new Jarl of Riften to quietly put her away, for fear of making a martyr out of her."

"She'd more concerned about making an _example_ out of the woman who took advantage of her mercy," Icando countered. "If Laila Law-Giver had been killed or captured at Treva's Watch, believe me, her head would now be adorning a spike above the gates of Riften."

"What's more concerning to me," Vighar added thoughtfully, "Is that the Dragonborn has once again taking an active role in the Legion's goings-on in Skyrim. If he is not above putting down the last of the Stormcloaks…"

"…who's to say he won't next be marching westward at the head of their ranks?" Kaie finished for him. "Madanach and all of the Foresworn had the advantage of numbers _and_ surprise on our attack on Markarth, and he tore through our ranks like a fire through a hayfield."

"The man who wields Wuuthrad reforged is not a man to be taken lightly," Helmmir War-Raed cautioned. "Not to mention Dragonbane: the blade that slew the World-Eater himself."

"Which is why we're going to assemble a legendary armory of our own, my lords," Tala grinned, and set a small round object on the table. There was a moment of mixed silence and confusion.

"So… what am we looking at?" wondered Skoberth Black-Song. Icando shot the former bard a look, at which the bard turned back to Tala.

"What are we looking at, _Your Majesty?"_ he repeated, at which the Queen's Hand rolled his eyes in mock despair. Tala smiled and picked up the round pearl-looking object on the table.

"This," she grinned, "comes from Drascua, the Hagraven Mother of Dead Crone Rock. It is the Pommel stone of _Mehrunes' Razor._ "

Everyone at the table straightened and leaned forward.

"Mehrune's Razor?" Kaie asked guardedly. "As in Mehrunes Dagon? As in _Oblivion Crisis_ , Mehrunes Dagon?"

"One and the same," nodded Tala. "And these," she opened a bag and placed four metal shards on the table, "are from an orc chieftain named Ghunzul. He used to run a bandit/hunting party out of Cracked Tusk Keep in Falkreath. With the Legion hunting down the survivors of Laila Law-Giver's army, I offered them sanctuary in Markarth, at the price of the Shards."

"You mean to reassemble the pieces of the Razor." Icando Damn-Rune's face was thoughtful and calculating.

"If I can," nodded Tala. She then placed a piece of paper on the table. Icando picked it up and handed it to Kaie after a moment.

"A… _Mythic Dawn Museum…_ In Dawnstar?" Kaie marveled incredulously. " _Daedra_ , but I can think of fewer more sure ways to get oneself hanged by an angry mob."

"Take a look at the list of attractions for the museum."

" _Mythic Dawn robes… page of the Mysterium Xarxes… Commentaries…._ And the scabbard of Mehrunes' Razor." Kaie set the paper down, shaking her head. " _Gods_ , it's like this… 'Silus Vesuius' _wants_ to get himself killed."

"My Queen," Helmmir rumbled, getting to his feet. "Give the order, and my pack will see this done. We will fetch this… _scabbard_ , and everything else of value from this… museum."

Tala grinned, and nodded her head. "Make it so, my brave hunter," she said. "However… no violence within the town if it can be helped. Kill the fool Vesuius if you must, but no one else. Is that clear?"

Helmmir placed a fist on his chest, then bowed low and left the room. As he opened the door, a demure figure entered.

"You summoned me, your Majesty?"

"Ahh, Laelette," Tala acknowledged. "My lords, give us the room for a moment."

Icando, Kaie, and the rest of Tala's personal guards filed from the room, leaving Tala alone with the vampire thrall-maiden.

"Laelette, you're going home."

If Tala had told the woman that she was going to turn her into a dragon, she could not have been more surprised.

"Majesty?"

"You know Jorgen and his wife Lami?"

The young Nord woman's eyes grew wide, but she only nodded wordlessly.

"They have something that I greatly desire: An ancient hilt to an ancient dagger."

Laelette's eyes flittered to Tala's, then looked away.

"Shall I… do you… do I _have_ to kill them, my queen?"

"Kill them? Gods, _no_ , dear girl. I'm sending you to _purchase_ the hilt from him."

Tala placed a small bag on the table.

"500 gold pieces should do it, I should think."

Laelette's eyes widened even further, and she took a knee before the Queen of the Reach.

"My lady… my… family: they do… they do not…"

"Movarth has told me of how you became a vampire," Tala cut her off. "And I would not send you to see your husband and your son, then force you to leave them again. Find Thonnir, and Virkmund. Tell them what happened to you."

Laelette stifled a sob, but looked up at the mention of her family's names.

"Stay with them if you'd like, or bring them with you here to Markarth."

"Thonnir… he's a good man, my queen, but… he will not understand."

"Then find Falion, the court mage," Tala continued gently. She reached into her robe and produced a dark crystal. "Do you know what this is?"

"A…Black Soul gem, my queen."

"Yes. If you desire, you can give this to Falion. He will cure you of your vampirism. Again, only if that is your wish."

 _Something_ like hope burned in the young woman's eyes for the first time since Tala had entered Movarth's Lair.

"My queen… I… I…"

"Say no more. The price of your freedom is the Hilt of Mehrune's Razor. Bring that to me, and your blood oath to me is fulfilled. You may go where you wish, and live as you please."

Laelette made another deep obeisance, and then rose to take the bag of gold and Black Soul gem from Tala's hands.

"I _will not_ fail you, my queen."

"I know that, child," Tala reached up and gently patted the woman's cheek. Then she felt the chill of the Shift.

" **For your husband's and son's sake, I know you will not."**

Laelette averted her eyes, and walked slowly backwards out of the room. Tala scoffed and spun on her heel away.

 _That was unnecessary, Potema._

 **Can't be seen as weak, darling. They begin to take liberties if you do, or imagine themselves your friends.**

 _I want them to BE my friends!_

 **Darling… I sometimes forget how naïve you are to the whole 'ruling a kingdom' business.**

 _DON'T patronize me, undead bitch, or I'll shove this Mace up your–_

It was at that moment, Tala heard the clash of steel behind the closed doors in front of her. Grabbing the Mace in her hand, Tala lashed out in a kick, throwing both doors open and entered the Laboratory, ready for anything.

Or so she thought.

"TELL ME WHAT I WOULD KNOW!" Serana yelled, her hand around the throat of a fully-armored daedric warrior.

"I CANNOT tell what I DO NOT KNOW!" came the choked reply.

"Serana!"

Startled, Serana turned towards Tala, which distracted her long enough for the daedric warrior to break her hold and roll towards the its weapon on the floor. It came up, ready for battle.

" **CEASE!"** Potema called, in a tone that brooked no argument. **"Explain yourselves!"**

"We _need_ more information on the Soul Cairn," Serana hissed. " _He must_ know _something!_ "

"Teyrn'garwch is a servant of Sanguine, a dweller of the Misty Grove!" the daedric warrior insisted. "He knows _nothing_ of the Soul Cairn!"

"That is the Realm of the Ideal Masters, Serana," Tala explained. "He doesn't know anything about the Soul Cairn than _you_ know of Elswyr, or the Black Marsh. Oblivion is quite a big place, after all."

Serana stared at the floor for a moment, then spun on her heel and went back to the open book on the far side of the room. Tala reached over and picked up the Rose from where it had fallen to the floor.

"You may return to the Grove… Teyrn'garwch, is it?' Tala asked.

The daedric warrior sheathed his sword and nodded sullenly.

"That is this one's unworthy name. And return to the Blessed Grove Teyrn'garwch may not. He is imprisoned within the Rose until such time as the Lord of Mirth is content."

"Oh," Tala started, staring at the Rose-staff in her hand. "I'm… I'm sorry then. I didn't know."

"Whether it be this realm, or there," Teyrn'garwch nodded towards the staff, "It is all the same to Teyrn'garwch."

And with that, the warrior disappeared in a flash of red and green smoke. Tala looked dubiously at the staff in her hand, then turned back to the brooding vampire in the corner.

"Serana –"

"You say that my mother entered the Soul Cairn?"

Tala took a deep breath before answering in a soft and gentle tones.

"When she entered the Soul Cairn, she intended to strike a bargain with the rulers of the realm, the Ideal Masters. She requested refuge, and in return, Valerica would provide them with the souls that they craved."

Serena nodded. "That sounds like her."

"The Ideal Masters had other plans," Tala continued, "as they valued your mother's soul much more. They sent their Keepers to kill her. However, she was able to retreat into a fortress and keep them at bay. This, however, turned into a stalemate as neither side had the upper hand. The Ideal Masters constructed a barrier around the fortress that could not be breached in order to contain Valerica and decided to wait. As the passage of time has little meaning in the Soul Cairn, the waiting game has continued for _thousands_ of years."

"How could you _possibly_ know all this?"

Serana turned and threw the book on the lectern against wall.

"I have _scoured_ every tome, scroll, and rune-book in this library! There is _NOTHING_ on the Soul Cairn, or its people! My mother hid me away _thousands_ of your years ago, before Cyrodiil was _ever_ more than a collection of warlords in thatched barns! HOW do you know all this?!"

The Shift came again.

" **FUS!"**

Serana stumbled back, papers and scrolls flying at Potema's single-word Shout.

" **GIRL, where do you think I WAS for three HUNDRED YEARS?!"**

Serana looked up, understanding slowly dawning on her.

" **It was the** _ **only**_ **thing anybody talked about over there: How your mother summoned bone-men and cairn Wraiths to defend her, and the Ideal Masters had countless souls to form their army, and even their undead Dragon could not dislodge her from her fortress, so they trapped her there and have been "waiting her out" for thousands of years. I** _ **watched**_ **and I witnessed them make an attempt to breach the barrier every few decades. All in vain. Then my shackles were broken, and I was brought** _ **back**_ **into this realm. HOW DO I KNOW?**

 **BECAUSE I LIVED IN THAT HELL! FOR THREE HUNDRED YEARS!"**

The electrical spell Potema had been charging in her hands dissipated, and the Shift passed, leaving emerald eyes looking back into the vampire's crimson.

"I… _She_ does not know the amounts of each," Tala said breathlessly, "but your mother's formula for opening the Breach calls for Finely Gund Bone Meal, Purified Void Salts, and Soul Gem Shards."

Tala closed her eyes, panting hard.

"You need to…place in a silver-lined portal vessel and add _your_ blood as the reactive agent."

Serana reached out a hand and caught Tala as she lurched sideways.

"I'm… I'm fine," Tala protested, but leaned against the vampiress nonetheless. "It… just takes a lot to wrest control _back_ , when she's in one of her… moods."

"I'm sorry," Serana said quietly, stroking the girl's hair as she supported her half-collapse to the floor. "I shouldn't have… I should have…"

"If I had known you were looking for a way to the Soul Cairn," Tala groaned, wincing as the first pang of the migraine hit her, "I would've helped you sooner."

Serana chuckled softly and kissed Tala's forehead.

"You've done _plenty_. I've got the ingredients, and it should be simple for me to figure out the formula."

"Hey, _awesome_ ," Tala chuckled in return, giving a thumbs-up to the Daughter of Coldharbour. "Gonna… take a few minutes here, then… if that's ok?"

Serana brushed a lock of Tala's hair from her face. "You go right ahead," she replied softly. "I've got you."

"We'll get her back, Serana," Tala said, closing her eyes in vain attempt to ward off her exhaustion. "We'll get her back…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **More plot twists and developments in the land of Tamriel in general, and the Reach in particular! Tala is now no longer content to just sit and wait for things to happen to her. Come to think of it, she never was… but anyway, it's another plot point in the Serana/Tala pair, and Potema along for the ride.**

 **Let me know your thoughts, your suggestions, and yes, even your constructive criticisms!**

 **You lot always make my day! Thanks for all the feedback!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Smiling Seshat – You were! Congrats! ;)

JimmyHall24, METALHELLSPWN, hopelessromatic34, XCOMHEAVY12– I think the character of Babette is severely underutilized in the game, and I hope to do my bit towards amending that in this story!

Speaker-to-Customers, Pietersiellie– Indeed, my friend. Indeed. The Ruby Throne belongs to the Septims by right. They took it by force, and by force it was taken away from them. And by force it may be reclaimed.

griezz – I think she puts up with Cicero because he truly amuses her, which is a rare occurrence in her long lifetime. And Nazir puts up with the jester for Babette's sake.

The Daggerfell Covenant was a dark time for Tamriel, as the First Aldmeri Dominion and the Ebonheart Pact were also laying waste to Nirn. However, several thousand years later, the tale is remembered, but obviously, with the Bretons still loyal Imperial subjects, and the Redguards and Orcs given the shaft by Titus Mede II, who knows how long that will stay _just_ a memory.

Draco Oblivion – This is a very real concern. But we all know people don't always make the wisest choices, now don't we? Also, the time limit might be a good argument to USE her knowledge, while it's still applicable at all.

Guest – I am aiming for 2k-5k long chapters, considerably shorter than other works, but that will allow me to get chapters out faster, rather than try and churn out giant works every week.

Guest, Guest, Rex Aternum, shadow wolf 501, OnkelJo, MalhavocShadowlord, crowfeild, YungMoolah – Thanks! TalTema has quite the journey ahead, but she's built up a base strong enough to support the journey, I think. (barring tragedy, of course).

ronma hibiki, gearblade – Thanks! Just something I'd thought I'd throw in for good measure. Besides, any good minstrel wouldn't just let a good tune like that go to waste!

ROCK ON, my friends!


	22. Chapter 22: Septims Revealed

***FORT DAWNGUARD*  
VELOTHI MOUNTAINS  
MORROWIND**

"Agmaer! Get that arm up, boy!"

Isran's bellow only served to distract the poor Nord further, causing him to not even _see_ the warhammer that caught him full-on the side of his steel great-helm. He hit the ground in a motionless heap. Two other recruits ran over, healing spells charged. Isran groaned and shook his head.

"Stendarr save us, if he can't beat Durak, then he's sure as hell not ready to face a full-bloodied vampire!"

"Be easy on the boy," Llewellyn eased, "A week ago he hadn't lifted anything heavier than his family's axe chopping wood."

"My point exactly," Iran grumbled as the large orc walked over to them.

"They're doing _fine_ , Isran," Durak chuckled. "The boy's got strength, he's just learning how to use it properly. He's spent his whole life with people telling him to be _gentle_. He really doesn't know _how_ to hit something as hard as he can."

"Put him in a few more shifts helping Gunmar at the Forge, or send on another of Sorine's expeditions into the Dwemer ruins," suggested the Dragonborn. "He'll shape up nicely."

Isran made a very non-committal grunt that bespoke his level of confidence in the still-unconscious recruit laying just a few yards away. Just then, another figure in the full heavy wargear of the Dawnguard walked up.

"Tolan," nodded Iran. "What news?"

"More Vigilants coming in," Tolan reported. "A group of eight that Keeper Carcette had sent to investigate a report of a Daedric cult in Windhelm. They read the placard we placed at the Hall and made their way to Stendarr's Beacon."

Isran nodded at the news. "Have them report to the Armory. Get them out of those ridiculous robes and issue them some proper armor and weapons. Then get with Durak and put them through their paces. We want fighters, not priests."

"There is more," Tolan continued in a lower voice. "They say that they found a sanctum dedicated to Boethiah, but the compound was abandoned. The folks of the nearby farms say that a large party of fighters was spotted on the Eastern Road. They…apparently asked for the way to Markarth Side."

Llewellyn made a disgusted noise and put his hands on his hips.

"Damn," he muttered emphatically.

"That confirms what Mogul and Vanik reported on their last patrol," Durak sighed. "Narzulbur has also been abandoned. Mauhulakh and his kin marched westward, less than a fortnight ago. With both them and Larak of Mor Khazgur, that only leaves Largashbur as the only Orc stronghold that has not answered Burguk's call for a new Orsinium."

"Makes sense," Llewellyn shrugged, "With Hammerfell foresworn as a Imperial province, Markarth is the only trade-route to High Rock, unless caravans are willing to brave another three-weeks-longer traverse of the Frozen Coast by Solitude."

"This Queen Tala Niwot has placed herself in _just_ the wrong place," the big orc sighed, "And now the tribes of the Orsimer are flocking to her banner in droves."

"They'll be flocking _away_ in larger droves when they realize what a _fool_ she is," Tolan spat. "As soon as they realize that their families and their children are only being fattened like cattle and fed to her vampire and werewolves."

"Bitch thinks she can rule a _vampire_ kingdom of the North," Isran scoffed, "They made well-enough soldiers for her army, but they'll make poor subjects. By the time she realizes that she's trying to civilize feral animals and _monsters_ , it'll be too late."

"Too late for the innocents she's attracting her banner with the promise of a better life," the Dragonborn shook his head. "We must be ready. If the Legion marches on Markarth, they'll have no idea what they'll be walking into."

"I have no intention of taking Imperial commands, Hereon," Isran clarified, "I and my Dawnguard are here to kill vampires, not expand or preserve empires."

"And here, killing vampires _just_ so happens to preserve the Empire," Llewellyn shrugged, "Happy coincidence for the Empire, and I will ensure that command-chain is kept separate."

"If the Legion marches westward, they could be facing Redguards and High Rock Bretons in the enemy ranks," warned Durak. "She has enough gold to purchase the allegiance of most of the city-states around her."

"You didn't think the Emperor was coming to Skyrim just for a _wedding_ , did you, my friend?" Llewellyn smiled. "He'll promise the Redguards whatever they want, and give the fat and squabbling Bretons some more power, and Tala Niwot and her… _Vodahmin_ will find themselves alone and surrounded soon enough."

"She'll try to treat with the Emperor to keep her seat, no doubt," Tolan nodded. "We'll have to make sure that whatever terms the Emperor gives her, the banishment of daedra worshippers and their ilk is included."

"I don't give a damn," Isran said gruffly. "She throws her lot in with vampires, she dies with them. Either way, the world is well-rid of their taint."

The Redguard spun on his heel and headed back inside the fortress.

"Has he always been so mild-mannered and pleasant?" Llewellyn asked.

"For as long as I've known him," Durak nodded.

"I don't know," Tolan shrugged, "I think he's mellowed with age..."

* * *

 ***SKY HAVEN TEMPLE***  
 **THE REACH  
** **SKYRIM**

"And you think this... Amaund Motierre, can be trusted?" Tala asked.

 _ **The Motierre family have been a prominent power in Cyrodiil since before my time,**_ Potema answered. _**He has as much reason to hate the Mede Dynasty as we do.**_

Serana scanned the letter again, then refolded it carefully.

"I just fail to see what the purpose of the letter would be if it _wasn't_ genuine, my queen," she answered. "If the Emperor put him up to it, or the Penitus Oculatus, what purpose would it serve to know where the Emperor is _going_ to be? There are no suggested actions in the letter, nor he does not request any kind of reply. He merely informs us that the Emperor will be attending his cousin's wedding in Solitude in six weeks' time."

"Still," Tala said, "The fact that he offers us information unsolicited is worthy of note, at any rate. Titus Mede II has no children or heirs. If his demise could be brought about, the Mede Dynasty would be ended, once and for all."

"You are forgetting the Vici branch of the family," corrected Serana. "Their position in the East Empire Trading Company makes them one of the richest families in Cyrodiil."

"Having the gold to _purchase_ swords is much different than having the heart to wield one, my queen," Skoberth Black-Song commented, from his position directly behind the two riders.

"I'm more concerned, _your Majesty,_ " the vampiress continued, shooting the vampire bard a glare, "Is their ability to hire _men to wield_ said swords. The East Empire Trade Company has branches in every port between Stros M'kai and Solstheim."

"We will make no moves against Solitude directly… _**yet**_ ," Tala added, with Potema's clarification. "Jehenna and Shornhelm have joined with us, and orcs from all over Hammerfell and High Rock are making their way towards the Wrothgarian Mountains."

"The tales of Burguk wielding Volendrung, the Hammer of Malacath, doesn't have anything to do with that, I'm sure," Serana smiled.

"It was a simple ceremony of promising Malacath to reestablish the city of Orsinium," Tala shrugged, then tapped the massive mace at her hip. "And I already had a weapon."

"HALT!"

Four arrows slammed into the ground in front of the column. Unbidden, shields came up in front of Tala and her horse.

"Come no further, unless you come in peace!" came the shout again. "Or if you come as foe, step forward and meet your deaths!"

"We do not come as enemies!" Tala called out, her voice rising above the clatter of armor and frightened horses. "I have come to speak to Delphine of Cyrodiil and Esbern Lore-Master!"

"Who comes, that would speak with them?"

"I am Tala Niwot, Queen of the Reach, and Mother of the _Vodahmin_."

A figure appeared on a ledge above, clad head to foot in the Akaviri armor of the Blades.

 _Delphine._

"And what purpose would the Queen of the Foresworn have with the Order of the Blades?" the warrior asked down to the party of horsemen on the path below.

"Will you come down?" Tala called. "One grows weary shouting up at a distant figure."

There was a slight pause.

"Withdraw your guard, and I will meet you at the gate."

Then the figure disappeared from sight. Serana turned to Tala with a raised eyebrow.

"You're going to insist we leave you here alone, aren't you?"

"Delphine may be a bitch and a half, but she has a warrior's code of honor," Tala reassured. "I will not be in any danger."

Serana and Skoberth both looked doubtful, but did not question their queen's command as they party rode back down the mountain path towards the Foresworn camp of Karthspire. Tala turned back towards the massive doors that now closed off the cave entrance from the games.

 _Makes sense_ _that they would seek to secure the mountain against incursions._

 _ **It is a strong fortress**_ **,** Potema said admiringly _,_ _ **A thousand men could assault this Temple, and we'd lose more than half before it was ours.**_

 _Exactly._

There was a _Rumble_ , and one of the doors cracked open. More figures in Blades armor poured out from the door, bearing shields, but their swords were still sheathed. It was difficult with the helmets, but Tala was able to recognize a _few_ faces, recalling the Thalmor scroll:

 _That HAS to be Uthgerd the Unbroken. No other woman in Skyrim is THAT size._

 _The Argonian would be Derkeethus._

 _The mage there is most likely Marcurio_.

 _Hard to see the others' faces_ …

The Blades parted ranks, and two armored figures strode forward.

 _Delphine and Esbern._

"This is Esbern Lore-Master, Grandmaster of the Blades," Delphine snapped. "What do you wish of us. Be brief, for we want _none_ of you."

"Delphine, Delphine," the old man admonished. "Let us at least be civil with one another. Lady Tala has come in good faith. We must listen with the same."

Tala smiled. "They were not lying when they said the Grandmaster was a warrior of honor," she said with a slight bow. Esbern held up a hand.

"Please, Lady Tala, they gave the title of 'Grandmaster' to make an old man forget he is too old to go gallivanting about the kingdom, slaying dragons," he said modestly. "You and your followers have made no attack upon this temple, or sought to impede any of our warriors from their duties. For this, I thank you."

Tala inclined her head again in acknowledgement.

"What business would you speak with us, then, Lady Tala?"

Now a knowing smile came across the younger woman's face.

"I have come to summon you to fulfill your oath as Blades of the Empire."

The hitherto-impassive guards now shot one another looks, but remained disciplined enough to stay silent, to their credit. Esbern seemed confused, but a guarded look came into his eyes.

"Our oath is to the Emperor of Cyrodiil, and to the Ruby Throne," he said cautiously.

"The Akaviri Blades swore to serve the family of Tiber Septim and the Septim Line," Tala corrected. "The fool Titus Mede II _disowned_ you, and dissolved your body in the White-Gold Concordat, and left you to be hunted down by the Thalmor, one by one."

A pained look came across both veteran Blades' faces.

"Therefore," Tala continued, "in a strict interpretation of Imperial Law… you are all _traitors_."

This time, hands went to sword-hilts, and Delphine actually went to draw her sword, only for sparks to fly from the handle when she grasped it. She jerked her hand back.

"What… what sorcery is this?" she hissed in pain.

"Those are the Blades of the Emperor," Tala explained. "They cannot shed Septim Blood."

Now Esbern's expression was one of doubt and misgiving.

"Are you… claiming to be a _descendent_ of Martin Septim?" he asked incredulously.

"Far from it," Tala replied.

But just as Esbern's expression relaxed somewhat, the Shift occurred, and emerald eyes gave way to blue, and the Voice of Potema sounded out in stark contrast to the dulcet tones of Tala Niwot.

" **I am Potema Septim, returned from beyond the grave. By the oath of the Akaviri, and by the right of my bloodline, I claim your allegiance!"**

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hope you all will enjoy this bit! Please leave a review with your thoughts, even if it's just "Good job, I liked it." Reading you all's thoughts and impressions are what make my day!**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24, METALHELLSPWN – Yeah, I don't think Lewis has _any_ idea what he's dealing with….

Pietersielie – It's a culmination of "Right time, right place."

griezz – The Bretons are definitely in it for themselves, but I think they realize that, unlike the Redguards, they are too divided amongst themselves to fight off the Aldmeri. But I have no doubt that they could be brought to see the advantages of bringing up the old Covenant.

Malhavoc SHadowlord – We have a few chapters before we get to go to the Sould Cairn, but I definitely look forward to that as well!

coduss – The Dark Brotherhood are definitely not ones to forget something like the slaughtering of their entire family. Or forgive.

jdboss1 – I'm just a huge nerd. ;)

Skittertale – I'm a fan of Serala as well. :P


	23. Chapter 23: Bow to the Wolf Queen!

***NCHUAND-ZEL*  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM  
**  
 _ **Damn them all!**_

Tala ducked under the Dunmer's practice sword, swinging her own in an arc that caught him in the back of the knee. Had these been real blades and not lead-weighted wooden practice swords, he would have lost the leg: as it was, it was enough to send him tumbling onto his back into the dirt.

 _They are sworn to follow the Septim bloodline._

A Nord charged in, swinging a quarterstaff at neck-level. Tala lurched forward blocking the blow and seizing the giant fighter by the shirt and _heaving_ him up and over her own body to land, dazed and confused, next to her other sparring partner.

 _And the fact remains… You don't have any Septim Blood. Not while you're in my body._

 _ **We should have slaughtered them all for DARING TO deny their queen's…**_

 _BUT YOU ARE NOT THEIR QUEEN!_

Tala's mental scream was enough to silence Potema's hitherto-endless brooding.

 _NOT. YET._

"If I may, my Lady?"

Tala turned to see Nazir and Babette standing at the top of the stairs, observing the sparring ring below. Tala nodded at Nazir's question, who bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Your anger is a flood my queen, tearing all before it," the Redguard assassin complimented, "But you rely too much upon your strength alone. There may come a time when the solution to a problem is not mere force."

Tala let out an involuntary snort.

"That time has not yet presented itself," she grinned.

"Then I would say that the gods are _definitely_ overdue to heap their share of irony upon you, my queen," Babette shrugged, letting out a snort of her own. "Such is their fickle nature."

Tala smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, Nazir. Your lessons, both in sword and wisdom, are always appreciated."

Nazir tapped his blade to his forehead in a warrior's salute, then turned and strode across the training yard.

"It _is_ impressive."

Tala turned to see Serana entering from the other doorway, making her way down the steps to the training circle.

"Thanks," Tala replied, accepting the skin of water the vampiress offered her. "But I can't take all the credit."

" **She is better than she will admit to herself,"** Potema added, Tala's right eye flashing blue for a moment. Serana nodded, and then waved a hand to the six or seven bruised and beaten men in the circle around them.

"I take it the Blades didn't take your revelation well?"

Anger flashed across Tala/Potema's face, but then subsided again.

"They have agreed to take no action _against_ us," Tala shrugged, "but they will not fight _with_ us, either. Apparently, Esbern is taking the 'Serving the Septim blood' quote of the Blades' original oath quite literally."

"Ahh," Serana replied knowingly, "And while your spirits are bonded together…"

"…my blood remains distinctly _non-royal_."

Serana raised an eyebrow.

"Non- _Septim_ royal, anyway. And that's the only way that _counts_ to them, at least."

" **We need to look into possibly resurrecting MY OWN body."**

Serana _and_ Tala both started at the Wolf-Queen's words.

"Is such a thing even possible?" Serana asked. "I mean, we have your bones, yes, but… the task is quite beyond even my own knowledge of necromancy."

" **Or mine,"** Potema agreed.

Tala pursed her lips. "There is also the risk that attempting to replace your own spirit with your remains…"

" **Might cause me to pass over to the… Other Side once again, yes."**

"So the question remains," Tala continued, " Is such a thing even possible? I mean, we've _talked_ about separating, yes, but… to be honest, I had almost resigned myself to being…. Well…"

" **Bonded together forever? Yes, such a separation is** _ **possible**_ **. Salmir would know how."**

"Who?" Serana and Tala asked.

" **A friend I met… on the Other Side."**

"In the Soul Cairn?"

" **Yes. Apparently, he was a necromancer of great renown during the First Aldmeri Dominion. Then the typical tragic magician's story: Deals made, apprentices betraying you, the whole lot."**

"Fascinating," Tala nodded, "And this helps us How?"

" **Quite right, dearie,"** Potema agreed. **"Focus on the here and now, shall we? Is Burguk here?"**

Serana nodded, seemingly unphased by the Shifting back and forth of the two personalities.

"They are waiting for you."

"Very well then," Tala replied, replacing her wooden practice sword in the rack and picking up her own weapons, "Lead the way."

"Would you like to perhaps bathe and change first?" Serana asked, giving Tala an appraising glance up and down.

Tala looked down at her sweat-stained practice shirt, her ragged trousers, and mud-covered boots and laughed.

"The Queen of the Reach sweats, shits, and stinks just like the lowliest of commoners," she replied, "If my advisors don't know this of their queen already, it's time they learned."

The pair walked through the ancient Dwemer city, a ruin no longer, but vibrant once again with the call of merchants selling their wares, with handcarts of goods and possessions being wheeled down the streets, and the noises of children playing in the stone halls.

"It's a startling difference, isn't it?" Serana asked, as if sensing Tala's train of thought. "Quite different from the empty and deserted passageways of before."

"It is a difference I much prefer," Tala commented. " _This_ is how a free people should live, not begging or scraping by to make a living."

"And all of it thanks to you," Serana smiled.

Tala shook her head.

"Thanks to a _great_ many people, Serana, not just me."

Tala dodged a handful of children running past, grinning at their squealing laughter, then her face grew serious again.

"What news from Icando's mission?"

"The free city of Fharun is with us," Serana reported. "Coupled with the forces of Jehanna and Shornhelm, that's nearly the whole of the North. Apparently, the northern cities tire of the constant bickering between Wayrest and Daggerfall, which does nothing but take their children to war, and their gold to foreign ports."

" **With Orsinium as a buffer state between them and Wayrest, not to mention Hammerfell, and a free Markarth to their back, we will be able to withstand even the combined strength of Daggerfall and Wayrest,"** Potema mused thoughtfully.

"Which would be a miracle in and of itself," Serana agreed.

By now, the pair had made their way up a flight of stairs, where a pair of gilded double-doors opened. A seated figure arose in the narrow hallway as they entered.

"How goes it, my bard?" Tala asked smiling.

Skoberth's face was grim.

"They've been going at it for almost half an hour now, my Queen."

"Who?"

"Helmmir War-Raed and Chief Burguk mostly, Majesty."

Tala turned and strode down the hall. Sure enough, raised voices could be heard, growing louder as the trio approached the main hall.

"I and my warband will _lead_ this assault, Orc! _Our queen commands it_!"

Tala and the others came around the corner to see the giant orc chieftain and the werewolf facing off, Helmmir looking about a hair's breadth away a full wolf _woge_. The two stepped back upon seeing the queen enter, but Burguk still fumed.

" _Lady_ Tala," he said sullenly, the failure to acknowledge her as his 'queen' not going unnoticed by either Tala or Potema, "We agreed that _I_ would hold the generalship of this army upon this campaign."

"And indeed you will, Chief Burguk," Tala answered graciously. "This is _your_ people's homeland we are liberating, and the tribes who have assembled answer to _you_ and you _alone_."

Burguk seemed relieved at the statement, but still maintained a wary stance of suspicion.

"Then why has this _volfvolk_ insist he receives orders from you?"

Helmmir and Skoberth both took a half-step forward to protest the insolent tone of the orc chieftain, but Tala simple held up her hand, and then gestured to the long table in the room. The two walked over to the table edge, where a giant map of High Rock could be seen painted on the wooden surface.

" **How many years has it been since your people were driven from their home, Chief Burguk?"** Potema asked innocently, blue eyes glowing as she poured herself a cup of wine from a nearby pitcher.

The orc bristled at the question, but accepted the offered cup from the Wolf Queen's hand.

"Long enough," he admitted. "Titus Mede I wasn't even _old_ when it happened."

" **Which means there is an entire generation of Bretons who have grown up in these lands who have no memory of when they were ruled by their rightful owners,"** Potema went on, her voice lilting gently. " **And each of them has been told the** _ **monstrous lie**_ **that Orcs were monsters whom their fathers** _ **drove**_ **from that land, who would prey upon children and ate their own kind."**

Burguk clenched a fist, but said nothing. Potema smiled disarmingly and put a hand out to run a finger down the orc's well-muscled arm:

" **As much as we might wish it, the Bretons are not fools, Burguk: They have no doubt heard by now of the orc tribes' assembling, and have no doubt deduced their likely target. If you and your army were to march** _ **now**_ **, you would have every Breton capable of bearing arms fighting you from behind every tree and hidden valley from here to Orsinium.** _ **However…"**_

Potema moved a small icon with a wolf's head into the region marked with the picture of a mountain.

" **Suppose Helmmir and his Pack will go in first? Targeting the mountain villages, the remote inns, driving off the horses and killing what cattle they could?"**

Helmmir let out a satisfied growl as he no doubt pictured the destruction his Pack could wreak upon the countryside. Burguk was now stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"They would drive their inhabitants towards Orsinium," he mused quietly.

" **Who is the Wayrest General commanding there?"**

"Jorgen Thul, my Queen," Serana answered, stepping forward, "Although after the Corsair Raid on Wayrest, much of his forces have been recalled west by King Allaric."

Burguk's eyebrows lifted slightly. "If a stream of refugees were to suddenly appear…."

"… **He will either take them into the city, spreading an already-reduced food supply to its breaking point, or (the much more likely)"** Potema continued, **"He will close the gates in their faces, and meet any of their attempts to enter the city with drawn swords."**

"Abandoning the people to their fate," Burgurk nodded, understanding dawning at last.

" **Then, when the masses of refugees are on the brink of starvation and massacre, along comes Chief Burguk and the Orsimer army, to save the people from the terrible Werewolves. And under the banner of your army will** _ **happen**_ **to be a column of Nordic fighters led by their** _ **very human**_ **captain Helmmir War-Raed."**

"We will be heroes and liberators," Burguk chuckled, and then bowed his head low. "My queen, that is… ingenious."

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER*  
MARKARTH  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

The vast assembled ranks of orcs stood in orderly and neat formations. Belying their savage appearances, the orc tribes were united in a rugged discipline instilled in their culture since childhood. Most of the warriors were clad in the jagged and menacing armor of their kin, while others were newly-equipped with Markarth-made Nordic and Dwarven suits and weapons. At their head, Burguk struck an impressive figure, with his armor glistening and the MASSIVE Volendrung, Hammer of Malacath, on his back. Yet even he raised his fist in salute, pounding a war-rhythm on his breastplate, a motion that the others followed suite until the air was ringing with the clang of metal and war-chants of the ranks.

On the balcony above, a jet-black figure appeared. Clad from neck to toe in a full suit of Daedric armor, Tala matched the form of Teyrn'garwch behind her exactly, except she was _sans_ helmet. Just beside the Daedric warrior, Serana stood dressed in resplendent mage's robes. The Queen's Guard were in full heavy Dwarven suits, and they stood silently behind their Queen.

Tala turned back to the sight of the vast Horde in front of her and lifted the Rose of Sanguine high above her head. The jewel in the copper and moonstone circlet gleamed brightly, like a beacon fire on a mountainside. Silence fell over the field before her. All eyes were upon her and necks craned to get a better look and to hear her words more clearly.

They needn't have bothered.

" **A NEW POWER IS RISING!"**

Aided by the Voice, Potema's voice rang clear above the myriad ranks before her.

" **The Empire ignored you, the Nords hunted you, and the Bretons betrayed you. We were driven from our homes, sent out into the Night and into the Hills, to scratch a living off rocks and the dark and barren places of the world!"**

Roars and screams of rage rent the air. Fists gripped weapons, hatred and righteous indignation in every eye.

" **No more!"**

The simple battle-cry was echoed by a thousand throats.

" **NO MORE! NO MORE! NO MORE!"**

Tala/Potema had to raise the Rose again to regain a proper level of silence.

" **No more will we sit idly by and let them make VICTIMS of us! No more shall we grovel in the dark, in fear of the light of day. We will take the fight to THEM. We will STAND TOGETHER and FORCE them to admit their FEAR of us!"**

Mocking shouts and derisive laughter broke from the same throats that moments before were choked with rage and hate.

" **It will begin in Orsinium. The driven shall now drive. The banished shall return. We will return our Orc brethren to their rightful place at our sides!"**

There was now a feverish pitch to the Wolf-Queen's voice, and a fierce and savage fire was in her eyes. Looking down the rows of the gathered Orsimer, that fire spread from heart to heart, like a flame set to dry thatch.

" **And this is just the beginning! From here we roll on, from hill to valley, from valley to mountain village, from village to town, and from town to mighty city. EVER WIDENING EVER, growing, until at last ALL ARE FREE!**

 **THEY WHO WERE FORGOTTEN SHALL BE FORSAKEN NO MORE! BY THE OLD GODS AND THE NEW, THE KNOWN AND THE UNKNOWN, WE SHALL ARISE, MY CHILDREN! I SWEAR IT!"**

If the army was wild before, they were _feral_ now, with barely-contained rage directed at their too-distant foes, and acclamation heaped upon the breathtakingly-beautiful goddess before them.

" **SO, BARE YOUR FANGS! SHOW YOUR SCARS! REVEAL YOUR TRUE FORMS! WE THE HUNTED, SHALL NOW HUNT!"**

Several of the Nords and Foresworn in the ranks lost themselves in the moment completely, and _woged_ into their Beast-forms. Multiple Were-wolves, and here and there a Bear-man stood in the ranks of the _Vodahmin_ , their howls and roars adding to the tumult around them.

Then suddenly their queen, their kind and beautiful, their beloved, gracious goddess of battle, gave them the release they so desired. With a flash of magika from the Rose she carried, she at last released them upon their quest with the long-awaited command that set a thousand feet running pell-mell towards sweet and blessed battle:

" **TO WAR!"**

* * *

 ***EMPEROR'S CABIN*  
THE **_**KATARIAH**_ **  
LILMOTH HARBOR  
BLACK MARSH**

"As I told you in the dispatch, I'm simply on my way to my cousin's wedding in Solitude."

Kelan-Tel ran a talon along his black scales, looking hard at the other occupant of the cabin. When the King of Argonia finally spoke, his voice conveyed none of the suspicion and disbelief he felt.

"You could be in Skyrim in five days' hard ride if you truly wanted, Titus. Yet here you are on your ship, taking the long way around."

Titus Mede II poured out two cups from a pitcher, handing one to the Argonian from his own hand before sitting down across the desk from him.

"But then I wouldn't have the opportunity to sit down and share a cup of _theilul_ with a good friend, would I?"

Kelan rolled his eyes and leaned back, sipping the native Argonian brew and savoring the taste before setting the cup down.

"Alright, Titus: What do you want? _Exactly._ "

The Emperor of Cyrodiil followed his fellow ruler's example, but then shrugged nonchalantly.

"The Hist will by now have _already told_ _you_ what I have come for, my old friend."

Kelan-Tel smiled. It was easy to forget that the man across from him was _not_ among the ignorant masses who knew next to _nothing_ about the secrets of Black Marsh. He nodded in acknowledgement of that fact and spread his hands.

"You want Argonian blades at your side for the next war, after so nearly losing the last one."

While letting that not-so-subtle barb sink in, the King reached for his cup again.

"The real question is: why should we care if a few soft-skins decide to kill each other?"

If Titus Mede II was offended at the callousness of the remark or the reference to his narrow victory (more like survival) of the last conflict, he did not show it. He simply grinned and shrugged his shoulders again.

"Because you don't think for a _moment_ that the Aldmeri Dominion will be content to allow such a spiritual power as the Hist to continue to exist, once they finish with the Empire and Morrowind."

 _That_ prompted an outright scoff into the Argonian ruler's cup.

" _Daedra_ have attempted to invade the Black Marsh before, and failed."

Titus reached over for the polished silver pitcher, refilling Kelan's cup before refilling his own.

"And yet your ancestors bent the knee to _Tiber Septim_ , once upon a time."

Now it was Kelan's turn to shrug and grin back at the Protector of the Ruby Throne.

"There are _damn_ _few_ Tiber Septims left in this world."

"True," Titus admitted, "but once the Aldmeri have brought the rest of Tamriel under their heel, do you think that even the An-Xileel can resist the might of an entire continent?"

"I have no intention of allowing it to come to that," Kelan-Tel answered honestly.

"I don't doubt that," Titus said hurriedly. "But why run the risk of fighting them alone, when you can fight alongside _friends_?"

The King narrowed his eyes and spread his hands wide in a theatrically overdramatic gesture.

"Yes, why don't we just all _fall in line in the ranks_ of the Empire once again?"

Now Titus' eyes narrowed.

"I prefer _friends_ to subjects, Kelan. I have no delusions that you would help the Empire for nothing."

Kelan-Tel sat up a little straighter.

"What are you offering, then?"

The Emperor pressed a button on the desk, and the wodden panels shifted and opened to reveal a full map of the continent of Tamriel. Titus Mede II pointed to a section in the southeast of Cyrodiil.

" _All_ of the Blackwood," he gestured, "Everything south of the Silverfish and East of the Niben will be returned to Black Marsh and the Argonian people."

Kelan-Tel's second eyelids blinked in surprise.

"That… is not an insignificant offer, Titus," he replied finally.

"I have been accused of being many things, Kelan," Titus acknowledged. " _Miserly_ is not one of them. Besides you will need those areas for your staging grounds."

A horned eyebrow raised.

"What staging grounds?"

"For the crossing-over to Leyawiin and the attack upon Alabaster, of course," the Emperor now gestured to the lands of Elsweyr, directly across the River Niben.

"Titus," Kelan waggled a finger in admonishment, "I have promised _nothing_ as of yet. I must commune with the Hist before any decision is made. It will be a difficult thing to ask Argonians to cross deserts, my friend."

"Which is why I ask no such thing," Titus Mede replied, drawing more lines on the map in-between the two rulers. "If your forces took Alabaster, and pushed south to take the coastal cities around Senchal, the Aldmeri would be forced to commit troops to stop you, or else risk losing the trade of those ports."

Kelan nodded slowly, taking in the plan.

"While in the meantime, I would suppose, you strike in the legions in the west?" he asked.

For the first time, a _flicker_ of anger came across the Emperor's face.

"I am _done_ with the Thalmor deciding when and where to fight my battles. I will push on Dune and on into Valenwood. We put the Thalmor back on their heels."

A boney, dagger-like finger jabbed onto the Summerset Isles on the map.

"If you can make the _Rormasu_ bleed…" he began, leaving the phrase unfinished. Kelan-Tel nodded and finished the Argonian proverb.

"…his own brethren will tear him asunder."

Titus leaned forward excitedly, his emotions getting the better for him for once.

"If we can demonstrate the weakness of the Altmer, and their _inability_ to protect the others, the Dominion will break apart under its own weight."

Kelan-Tel nodded thoughtfully, gazing at the map for another several long minutes of silence.

"Give my regards to dear Vittoria, won't you?" he said finally. "Tell her that she and her husband are always welcome in Black Marsh."

Titus Mede II's shoulders slumped slightly.

"I will do so, and she told me to tell _you_ that you are always welcome in Skyrim. I know you two were close during your fostering in Imperial City."

Kelan revealed a long and toothy grin.

"A long time ago now, my friend."

The King of Black Marsh turned to head toward the door, but then paused and turned back.

"I can make no promises, Titus," he said gently, in a _much_ lower tone of voice than before. "The King of Black Marsh is the _servant_ of his people, not their master. I can only present your proposal at the Gathering and then enforce the decision made there. But…"

A scaled and taloned hand extended across the table.

"I will do what I can."

Titus Mede II grinned a genuine smile of affection and clasped hands with the Argonian ruler.

"That is all I ask, my friend."

" _Xal Haj, Pakseech_."

"And to you, old friend."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Sorry for my absence, you guys, I've been trying to focus on my** _ **Mass Effect**_ **fanfic, now that that's winding down to its conclusion. But I haven't forgotten about this story, and as that story series concludes, I will most likely continue this series, with perhaps time to expand into slightly longer chapters (case in point: THIS chapter).**

 **Thanks for all the reviews and PMs! I love exchanging ideas and getting feedback from fans, even the constructive criticism! I can only get better as a writer and storyteller with interaction and feedback from others, and all of you have been excellent about that! Keep up the good work!**

 **Thanks Everybody! Let me know what you guys think of this chapter, and where you see it going next!**

 **-Tusken1602**

Reviewer Responses:

Br2nd66, KingHoborg – Yeah, a GIANT ASS monkey wrench is going to be thrown into the plans of the canon game-followers.

JimmyHall24, METALHELLSPWN, Draco Oblivion, hopelessromantic34, artembesmiley, Lord Mortem, UsernameRequested, Guest– Well, we see for once, that the big reveal did NOT go according to "Taltema's" plan, and actually may have been a tactical error on her part (as it's only a matter of time now before the Players learn of the Wolf-Queen duality). But all of this serves to emphasize that this is NOT in fact a game, and that no matter how good your Speech skill has leveled up, things don't always work out the way you want them to in real life.

Malhavoc Shadowlord, Guest – We meet the Emperor for the first time here, actually, and we learn that he's not just going to roll over and play dead at the first sign of trouble (there's a REASON he's on the Ruby Throne, everybody).

coduss – In the second chapter, the Dragonborn was leaving _for_ Solstheim, and his absence is what basically allowed "Taltema" to form the powerbase that she has already. So, sorry, no Miraak in this story. (or at least no _plans_ for Miraak).

XCOMHEAVY12, Pietersielie, DeliciousCookie, Lamreal – Yeah, the Vodahmin are a force to be reckoned with, as she is combining the strengths and weaknesses of each of her troop types and balancing them with one another: Orc shock troops, werewolf berserkers, vampire necromancers, Foresworn scouts/archers, etc.

Guest – We will DEFINITELY see more daedra and their artifacts making their way to "make a deal" with Potema.

Skittertale, Guest, jdboss1, crowfeild, vampireharry the 2, Envoy991, FractiousDay, Puppystomper, DarthAlivron – Thanks! I missed all of you as well!

ROCK ON, EVERBODY!


	24. Chapter 24: A Razor's Edge

**SHRINE OF MEHRUNES DAGON  
** **THE PALE  
** **SKYRIM**

 _ **We should not have come by ourselves.**_

Tala pulled her cloak tighter around her, cursing Skyrim's bleak weather.

 _We've been over this, Potema: bringing a large group with us would only have drawn more attention to ourselves. As it is, we are only another Redguard traveler upon the road._

 _ **Serana and Icando were right: it's too much of a risk.**_

 _How many people know our face, outside of Markarth? Besides, they can handle themselves until we return. Serana's close to cracking the door to the Soul Cairn. We rescue her mother, and then make our move against Harkon._

Tala took a deep breath, resting for a moment from the steps to the shrine above her. This was yet another addition to the growing list of "things that are MUCH bigger than in the game."

 _ **Well, you wouldn't think a shrine to the most dangerous Daedric Prince in Oblivion would be EASY to get to, would you?**_

 _Shut up._

For the thousandth time, Tala felt at the satchel at her hip for the pieces of the Razor. And for the thousandth time, was satisfied that the whole reason for this errand was still there.

 _ **There it is…**_

The massive carved figure of the seated Daedric Lord loomed into view, making the stone altar appear woefully small by comparison.

 _Here goes nothing_ …

Tala reached into the satchel, placing each of the shards and pieces of the legendary weapon upon the alter. Following Potema's direction, she then placed both of her hands upon the altar, trusting in the Wolf-Queen greater experience in calling upon Daedric Lords.

"Mehrunes Dagon, Lord of Change," she began aloud, the cold mountain air threatening to drown out her voice, "We bright your Razor once again to you. We beg you make this blade whole once more and let its glory shine upon Tamriel again!"

For a very long tense moment there was only silence, and Tala almost began to fear that her plea would go unanswered.

But then….

" **ANOTHER OF MY BROTHER'S TIRESOME LITTLE EXPERIMENTS…"**

Tala's heart nearly leapt into her throat, and she felt Potema's own surprise and trepidation as well, but the two made no reply. It would never do to interrupt the Daedric Prince responsible for the Oblivion Crisis.

" **BUT THEN AGAIN, YOU _HAVE_ CLAIMED THE PIECES OF MY RAZOR. I MUST ADMIT, WATCHING YOUR MACHINATIONS SINCE YOUR ENTRY UPON THIS PLANE HAS BEEN MOST… AMUSING. ANYONE WHO CAN MAKE THE 'LEGENDARY' DRAGONBORN WAIT AT MY ALTAR FOR DAYS IS WORTHY OF MY ATTENTION…" **

_Wait…' wait at the altar'?_

"ZUN! HAAL! VIIK!"

The Redguard scimitar at Tala's waist flashed away as her hand went to its pommel, the blade going over the edge of the cliff and _clanging_ off the rocks below.

"Potema Septim!"

Out of the shadows of the daedric statue stepped a lone figure, clad from head to toe in Nightingale armor.

 _Damn blessings of Nocturnal…_ hissed Tala quietly.

 _ **I agree**_ , Potema answered. _**Looks like the Blades were quick enough to share their knowledge of our dual nature with their beloved Dragonborn...**_

The figure pulled back the hood and pulled down the face-guard to reveal the face of Llewellyn Hereon, Dragonborn of Skyrim.

"I WILL NOT allow this," he said simply.

 _ **Gods, he hasn't said ten words and I already hate him.**_

"What you will and will not allow," Tala answered slowly, and deliberately, "bears less weight than you imagine, _Lewis Heron_."

She glanced right, and then left, but no other figures appeared on the cliff-top.

" **I see you did not bring your sycophants with you,"** Potema continued, the Change flashing across Tala's eyes. **"Don't want your little band of worshippers to know that the great and Mighty Dragonborn is only a mortal little boy from Texas, do we?**

 **Or don't want to admit that you** _ **abandoned**_ **a frightened and lonely girl to her fate outside Solitude while you** _ **ran**_ **to play the hero in your little fantasy world?** "

The Dragonborn winced, and took a few steps forward, holding a hand, as of placating a wild horse, or calming a mad dog:

"Tala… I am so sorry," he began. "Sarah told me about you, and Esbern gave me the rest. You are right: I was a fool. Come with me, and we can find a way to sever the link between you and the Wolf Queen. You can be free of her!"

" **FREE!?"**

The hate and vitriol in the word actually drove Lewis back a step.

" **Free to do** _ **what, exactly?**_ **Go back to being the scared and powerless little girl you found in that cave?**

 **I have united the Foresworn, and have granted the Vampires and Werewolves of Skyrim a home and a purpose.**

 **I have united the Orc Tribes and given them back their homeland.  
**

 **I have brought together Breton, Redguard, and Orc together to resist the Aldmeri Dominion, where your precious EMPIRE sowed only division and strife!"**

The eyes shifted from their unnatural blue back to Tala's emerald-green.

"What makes you think that I would WANT to be FREE OF THIS?"

The Dragonborn drew himself up, and a hand moved to the pommel of one of the swords at his belt.

"You're coming back to Solitude with me, Tala Niwot. Potema Septim's time upon this world is come and gone. I will save you from her influence, and from yourself, if need be. I will not allow her to unleash death and devastation upon Tamriel again."

"No, that is a right you reserve expressly for yourself, _hypocrite_ ," Tala spat. "You have _stamped_ out Talos worship, and slaughtered all who only wished to worship him in peace!"

"I secured PEACE from a group of fanatical _racists_ who wanted to overthrow the Empire!" Lewis protested.

"You slaughtered the Dark Brotherhood to the last man, and hunted vampires and werewolves where you could find them! And now, no doubt, you assist a bitter racist in his narrow-minded quest of extermination of anything with red eyes."

"I seek to rid Tamriel of _monsters_ and demons that YOU would grant a home and open arms to, and feed the innocent to their appetites!"

Tala reached her hands up and slowly clapped, the noise echoing off the shrine's walls.

"You are the champion only of Thieves and Genocidal maniacs, Lewis Heron."

"GOL! HAH! DOV!"

The Binding Will shout reverberated down the mountainside. Potema braced and took a deep breath before looking back up at the Dragonborn:

" **FOOL! Did you think that** _ **my**_ **will would be so easily swayed?"**

The eyes shifted again.

"Paarthurnax would be ashamed of you, using the Voice so…"

That sparked a reaction in Llewellyn's eyes.

 _Anger._

 _Surprise._

 _Pain._

"I wonder," Tala continued, seizing the opportunity to twist the emotional knife, "did he look at you with anger before you killed him? Or was it only shame, at seeing what you've become?

Llewellyn Heron hesitated, and his eyes grew uncertain.

" _ **Unless…."**_ Potema's knowing smile broke across Tala's face, **'OH, GODs above, he's not dead, is he? You just** _ **told**_ **them you killed him, didn't you?"**

Now the Dragonborn's look was guilt, giving way to anger once again.

"Enough words!" he answered. "MUL QAH DIIV!"

The shimmering golden armor of the Dragon Aspect took shape around the Nightingale armor. The hands went to the swords on his belt, drawing Dawnbreaker, and Dragonbane from their sheaths.

"Ahh," Tala scoffed, "so you're not above receiving _some_ of the Daedra's blessings, then. Well, I've got my toys, too, bucko…"

She reached behind her back, drawing the Mace of Molag Bal from its hiding place in her pack. In her other hand, the Rose of Sanguine flashed, and Teyrn'garwch stepped forth from the portal. The black-armored figure only looked up at the Dragonborn, and uttered a single word before drawing the two-handed sword on his back:

 **"FINALLY."**

Tale grinned and twirled the Mace in her hand.

"Let's dance, big boy."

Lewis' eyes narrowed at the Daedric weapon and the Dremora warrior, and he braced himself yet again.

"MID VUR SHAAN!"

The man became a blur of spinning metal and steel, spinning forward in a blazing fury.

Teyrn'garwch and Tala moved in opposite directions, keeping the Dragonborn between them. Tala rolled beneath one of the spinning blades while Teyrn'garwch swung his broadsword at neck level. Lewis flicked the massive weapon aside with ease, but leapt back at Tala's wide swing with the Mace. Tala flicked her wrist and the Rose extended to its full staff-length, driving the warrior back further. Lewis looked back and forth at his two opponents, and smiled.

"HUN KAAL ZOOR!"

A yellow beam of light descended like a lightning bolt next to the warrior, and a fully armored figure materialized from the beam, drawing a massive two-handed war-axe from his back.

 _ **What the daedra?**_

 _Call of FUCKING Valor…_

Tala looked left and pointed her chin at the newly-arrived Hero of Sovngarde, and the bound Daedric warrior leapt forward to engage him. Lewis, on the other hand, leapt forward to attack Tala.

The two Earthlings traded blows without pause or mercy.

"Our…duty…is…to… _preserve…the… Timeline!"_ Lewis grunted between blows. "Not…to…warp…reality!"

"SHUT…The… **Fuck** …Up!" Tala hissed, launching out with a foot that caught the bigger man in the chest. That kick would have put most men on their backs, but only knocked the Dragonborn back a few steps.

"We are both visitors… from another world, Tala," Lewis panted. "We do not have to be enemies."

A strangled roar drew both of their attention, just time to see the Nordic figure withdraw his axe from Teyrn'garwch, who simply faded away back to the plane from whence he came. The Nord saluted the Dragonborn with his axe, and then rocketed skyward, back to the Hall of Valor.

Llewellyn Hereon pointed both of his blades at Tala.

"YIELD, Wolf-Queen."

Tala _felt_ her eyes shift, and Potema's voice came sharp as a dagger and cold as ice.

" _ **I am Potema Septim, Queen of the Reach, Lady of the Forsworn, Keeper of the Mournful Throne, and High Mother of the Vodahmin.**_

 _ **I do not yield."**_

Then came the sharp intake of breath, and the cold mountain air seemed to chill even further around the two warriors. The Dragonborn looked confused for a moment, but then suddenly his eyes went wide.

"FUS RO DAH!"

Potema's Shout sent the bigger man tumbling backwards, not quite the head-over-heels effect that it had on others, but it was enough to send him tipping over the edge of the mountainside. The Dragonborn let out a noise that was almost a yelp, and then disappeared from view.

 _ **Is he dead?**_

 _I wouldn't count on it._

Tala sped over to the edge, and looked down, but could not see anything beyond the swirling snow. No sound of crashing steel or of flesh and bone meeting unyielding rock came to her ears either.

But then again, she couldn't hear much over the chuckling laughter that now echoed from all around her.

" **HAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAHAHAA!**

 **MORTAL! I HAVE NOT HAD SUCH MERRIMENT FOR MANY AN AGE.**

 **YOU TRULY ARE WORTHY TO WIELD MY RAZOR."**

The pieces that Tala had laid upon the altar floated, gleaming with dark power, and came together in a flash of purple light.

" **TAKE IT THEN, TALA OF WYOMING."**

Tala took another look over the edge of the Shrine, replaced the Mace and Rose on her back, and then strode over to the altar and took the dagger in her hand.

" **CAN YOU FEEL ITS HUNGER?"** the Lord of Oblivion asked.

" **CAN YOU FEEL ITS…FRUSTRATION?**

 **NOW I WILL MAKE IT AGAIN WHAT IT ONCE WAS; WHAT IT ALWAYS SHALL BE.**

 **DRAW A LINE OF BLOOD ACROSS THE LAND IN THE NAME OF MEHRUNES DAGON!"**

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

So the Wolf-Queen and the Dragonborn have their first meeting... and needless to say, it did not go as planned.

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I am working on finishing my Mass Effect Fanfic, but didn't want to forget all of you guys and this story!

Please leave me your thoughts and constructive criticisms! Even the simple "Good Job" messages are a great boost to my day!

\- Tusken1602

* * *

Review Responses:

METALHELLSPWN, KingHoborg – Perhaps a Second Daggerfall Covenant in the works?

Griezz – Well, if the Dragonborn holding Dawnbreaker is any indication… no, Meridia does NOT approve of Potema.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – Return Potema to Oblivion, and you just have a Redguard girl leading the Forsworn.

XCOMHEAVY12, Pietersielie– We will be seeing more Daedric princes in the days to come. And there will be an age of war and blood on the horizon.

rc48177 – Yep, it's a constant struggle between 'Interfere' and 'Let the game play out so we know what's coming.'

Guest – I'm trying to stay as "lore-friendly" as possible. I understand why the games limit where you can go (otherwise it'd be a HUGE game if we included everything), but in a realistic sense, no province of Tamriel exists on its own. Everything depends on each other, and everyone is influence by everyone else, in their own subtle ways.

Guest – Yeah, Titus has his own plans. I really didn't appreciate how much they just had him roll over and die in the game.

JimmyHall24, vampireharry the 2, pkmnmster9412, Taylor – Thanks! You guys are awesome!

ROCK ON, everybody!


	25. Chapter 25: A Queen's Judgement

***MARKARTH*  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

"So you mean to tell me that you met the Lord of Oblivion, Mehrunes Dagon himself, defeated the Dragonborn in single combat, and all he gave you in token of his blessing was this dagger?"

Serana turned the Razor over in her hand, feeling the new-made blade's weight and balance.

"It seems…not as impressive as I imagined, somehow."

Tala shrugged.

"He was out of T-Shirts, apparently."

Serana's face contorted in confusion.

"Commemorative robes," Tala clarified.

"Seems very little return for so much risk," Serana continued.

"Hey, now," Tala objected, "I returned with not only the blessings of Mehrunes Dagon, but also those of the Lord's Stone and of Peryite."

"Ahh… so what does the Lord of Pestilence to say about us?"

"See for yourself."

Tala reached at her back and pulled out the singular shield.

"Spellbreaker."

Serana looked unimpressed.

"A _shield_?"

"Cast a spell… Any Destruction Spell."

Serana arched her eyebrow, but charged a Lightning spell all the same, and cast it across the room at Tala. When it struck Spellbreaker, the spell arced, sending the stream of lighting back towards the sender.

Serana threw up a Ward at the last minute against her own spell.

"That… that _is_ impressive," she conceded.

Tala replaced the shield on her back.

"So how has the city fared in my absence?"

"Surprisingly well," Serana answered. "Word from Orsinium is that _King_ Burgurk has occupied the mountain."

"Jorgen Thul's conscripts didn't feel like dying for their king, then?"

"Considering they killed him and threw open their own gates, I'm guessing not.'

"Icando handled being Hand of the Queen well?"

"He did: one of the vampires who's wandered in over the past few weeks apparently tried to attack a young girl. Icando and Nestor staked him out in the sun for two days. His skin was a charred wreck before they beheaded him. The townsfolk are still remarking on his fairness. Although, two cases he deferred for your judgement upon your return."

"I see," Tala nodded.

 _ **Did you think EVERY vampire would be content to feed only on your enemies?**_

 _I had every confidence in the guards' abilities._

 _ **Icando's example will go a long way towards circumventing any further ideas of predation.**_

Serana and Tala were now entering the Understone Keep, followed by Skoberth and the rest of the Queen's guard. Various supplicants lined the hall, awaiting the Queen's justice, but the harsh and menacing stares from the guards prevented any of them from attempting to jump the line and address the Queen directly. As they approached the Mournful Throne, Potema sent a pulse of approval to see Icando delivering his judgements from the Steward's chair, and not from the queen's throne itself.

 _ **He was an excellent choice, little Tala: Clever, but not overly ambitious.**_

 _He DID run a coven directly underneath the Blue Palace. I knew he had to have been at least a patient Dunmer to do that._

"My Queen," Icando greeted, rising from his seat, "All the _Vodahmin_ rejoice to have their _High Mother_ return unto them safely."

"I hear from many that I left them in good hands, Icando Damn-Rune," Tala smiled, taking the Dunmer's hand to walk up the steps to her throne.

"I was merely the instrument of the Queen's will," Icando replied modestly. "However, two cases await your royal adjudication and sentence."

"Very well, my Hand, show them in."

"Bring forth the prisoner," Icando said to a nearby Foresworn Briarheart. The antlered figure bowed and departed down the hallway.

The trio on the raised dais _heard_ the prisoner being brought into the throne room long before they could see her. Grunts and the sounds of blows being landed echoed through the stone halls before eight men appeared, each holding a rope attached to a single figure.

"We caught her at the border, my Queen," Icando explained. "She is a werewolf, but several of the guards recognized her as a…"

"Companion of Ysgramor," Tala said in a hushed voice. "Aela the Huntress, is it not?'

The painted face whirled to face the throne, anger and rage _barely_ contained beneath the surface.

"I'm surprised you've managed to suppress your wolf," Tala stated, addressing the Companion.

"She hasn't," Icando muttered. "She's _woged_ … Four times. Eight of the guards are being attended to for their wounds."

"If I had wanted to kill them," Aela glared at the Dunmer, "They would have _all_ been dead men, knife-ears."

"She is a Companion, my queen," Kaie muttered from the side of the room where she stood watching. "An _ally_ of that the _Dragonborn kufr_ what murdered King Madonach!"

"I am with the Companions no longer!" Aela snapped back.

"Not since your new Harbinger ordered the Circle to give up the wolf," Tala added.

Aela's eyes went wide at the Queen's knowledge.

"How the Daedra…?"

Then she snapped her mouth shut.

"Forsaking the wolf was one thing," she said through clenched teeth. "Such was done to honor Kodlack Whitemane and earn entry to Sovngarde. But then…"

"Then he forsook his role as Harbinger," Tala added for her, "And rebuild and reorganized the same Silver Hands that once hunted your own kind. Between them and the Dawnguard, I'm guessing lycanthropy was treated as a _disease_ , rather than the gift it is?"

Aela's fists clenched.

"We _hunted_ them down," she answered, raw shame and sorrow in her voice, "We whom we of all people, should have _understood_ , should have taken under our protection…"

Aela's voice broke, and she stared at the ground for a long moment. Then she looked up at the Throne.

"My mother was a Companion. And her mother. And all the women in my family, back to Hrotti Blackblade. I stayed with my father in the woods until I was old enough for my Trial. We hunted everything there was to hunt... Good training. Ma didn't live long enough to see me join, but I fight to honor her and all my Shield-sisters through time.

But I cannot follow my brothers and sisters in their rejection of Hircine and the Great Hunt."

Tala nodded, placing her hands on her chin thoughtfully.

"Release her."

The eight guards shared a look, but then released the ropes attached to the belt at the Huntress' waist. Kaie still stared angrily at the Nordic woman, but drew a dagger and sliced the bonds holding her wrists together. Tala stood to her feet, and everyone in the Throne Room did the same. The eyes flashed blue.

" **Aela the Huntress** ," Potema began, " **We both know the pain and sorrow of betrayal, especially of our loved ones."**

There was a flicker of emotion from Aela at the reference to the exact nature of her relationship with Llewellyn Dragonborn, but she said nothing.

" **Here, the word and Hunt of Hircine is honored and respected. You are welcome to dwell within the city, and what is more, you are welcome to join my Hunters. If you would join us, then together, we will take the** _ **Vodahmin**_ **, the forgotten, and the forsaken under our protection, from those who would do them harm.**

 **I cannot promise you rank, position, gold, or lands: I promise you battles Glorious, with foes terrible and powerful. I promise you prey worthy of the Hunt, and battles worthy of my warriors.**

 **What say you?"**

Aela the Huntress cocked her head to the side, and then brought a hand to her chest and bowed somewhat awkwardly at the waist.

"I… I will stand with the _Vodahmin_ … my Queen."

" **Lady** Kaie," Tala stated, retaking control from Potema, "Return her weapons to her, and introduce her to Lord War-Raed and his Pack."

Kaie still looked guardedly at Aela, but bowed to her queen's command, and led the Nordic woman from the Throne room.

 _ **A worthy ally. Especially one so close to the Dragonborn's heart… She should prove VERY useful.**_

 _Just another person the "Dragonborn" has alienated by being an asshole._

"What is next, Lord Damn-Rune?" Tala asked aloud.

Next was Venarus Vulpin, leader of the Redwater Den coven. The Imperial vampire was over-exuberant with praise and flattery for the Mournful Thone.

"My coven has been _driven_ from our home in Redwater Den, most noble and gracious queen," Venarus continued. "We would humbly beg sanctuary of the Reach, and lend our aid and talents towards establishing your dynasty to last ten thousand years, most noble and–"

"Are you still the holder of the Bloodstone Chalice then, Lord Vulpin?" Tala asked, cutting the vampire off.

Venarus paled, even beyond his vampiric complexion.

"M-m-my L-llady?" he stuttered.

" **DO NOT TAKE ME FOR A FOOL** , **Vulpin!"**

The Imperial bowed his head even lower (now just a few inches above the ground).

"Forgive this most innocuous scrap of dust and ashes, my lady. I _did_ have the self-same chalice of legend, but unfortunately, it was lost in our evacuation of Redwater Den."

"So… Harkon and his minions just waltzed in a took it from you, then," Tala stated.

Serana started, as did Vulpin, but the look on his face confirmed Tala's suspicions as who exactly had sent Venarus Vulpin scurrying from his hole. Potema's bright blue eyes flashed across the Queen's face.

" **So tell me, Venarus Vulpin: why should I accept a broken and empty-handed refugee into the** _ **Vodahmin?**_ **"**

Venarus Vulpin grinned widely, the long canine fangs visible.

"Not empty handed does the Redwater Coven come to Markarth, great and noble queen," he said, now standing to his feet and stretching his arms wide in a theatrical display. "BRING HER!"

A figure in a tattered green dress was dragged forward by two of the Redwater vampires and thrown before the dais. Shocked gasps ran through members of the crowd, and Tala did not miss seeing Kottir Red-Shoal grip his sword and start forward, only to be stopped by his comrades.

"Queen Tala Niwot of the _Vodahmin_ ," Venarus proclaimed loudly, "I bring, for your pleasure, as a gift and token of our high esteem – Laila Law-giver, former Jarl of Riften!"

* * *

 _Llewellyn Dragonborn, Nightingale of Nocturnal, and Guild Master of the Thieves Guild of Skyrim:_

 _LET IT BE KNOWN TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:_

 _An open bounty shall be paid to the one who brings the Skull of Potema Septim from the Hall of the Dead in Markarth to Falk Firebeard in the Blue Palace of Solitude._

 _Upon Verification via the ritual of Arkay, the one(s) who bring(s) the skull of Potema Septim shall be rewarded the full sum of 100,000 septims._

 _HEREIN LAYS THE MARK OF NOCTURNAL, and the signet sign of the Thieves Guild Master._

 _\- L.H_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello everyone! Glad to share this chapter with you all! Tala and her Vodahmin are reunited, and the plots continue to thicken, and the blessings of the Daedra continue to stream in.**

 **The Dragonborn** _ **has**_ **survived, and apparently has no intentions to remain idly by while the Wolf Queen rules in the Reach.**

 **Hope to resume regular chapters of this story as** _ **Beacon's Effect**_ **4 winds down.**

 **Thanks for all the awesome reviews, ideas, and yes, the constructive criticisms! Keep the reviews coming, however short they may be!**

 **You guys are awesome!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Lord Canadian – It will not be an easy task to defeat the Queen of Markarth, certainly.

hopelessromantic34 – The Dragonborn certainly underestimated Tala, for sure. And there is no "Load" function in real life…

JimmyHall24 – Nope, not dead yet. ;)

Malhavoc Shadowlord – It's actually not Tala who is Shouting, it is Potema (who learned _FusRoDah_ after long study at High Hrothgar when she was a young girl). Don't plan on Tala learning any more shouts, just because I think that would be slightly OP for her. But she _IS_ gathering Daedric Princes and their blessings, as well as the Standing Stones. As for Herma-Mora, his involvement in the story is not quite done.

Wulfyre – Well, calling upon the dragons would definitely make an enemy of the Blades. So… it's a question of which ones are more valuable. Also, the sheer deed of the Dragonborn _slaying_ Alduin is likely to deter any dragons from openly joining the _Vodahmin_.

Draco Oblivion, griezz, KingHoborg, Guest, Tech Warrior Ender, wars apprentice – I am not trying to write the Dragonborn as a villain, certainly. He is a person trying to do good, and who has been lauded as doing good for perhaps too long. Not evil, but hypocrite, certainly.

Lord Mortem – the Aldmeri Dominion would certainly be happy to see them go to war, as well.

rc48177 – We certainly have all kinds of refugees making their way towards the Reach.

METALHELLSWPN, XCOMHEAVY12, Lamreal, Guest, jdboss1, kairobinson880, Lieutenant Paladine – Thanks! I really appreciate it! You all are the best!

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!


	26. Chapter 26: Portals Opening

***NORTHWATCH KEEP*  
HAAFINGAR  
SKYRIM**

"So you have _personally_ met with this… Queen Tala Niwot?"

The Dunmer across the table from Ancano offered only a shrug.

"I am her Steward," Icando answered, "In the absence of the queen, I speak with her authority and in her name. and it is upon her command that I have come all this way."

The dark elf lifted a hand with a signet ring to emphasize his point to the Altmer and Bosmer in the room.

"The Empire is a bloated, rotting corpse," he continued, "still imagining that it lives and rules above the living."

Ancano, the newly-promoted Aldmeri Ambassador to Skyrim, held up a hand to cut off Icando's words.

"These are things that are well-known," he sighed, "What is _not_ well-known is this: Why should we trust the word of a _Dun Mer_?"

A growl of hostility went around the room, the _millennia-old_ prejudices rising to the top of everyone's minds. If Icando was offended by the term "Cursed People," he did not show it. Instead, he merely pointed at the image of Cyrodiil on the giant map spread out before them.

"Because we have a mutual enemy."

"This is true," Ancano nodded, "But my superiors in the Dominion will have issue with certain… decrees that have gone out from the Vodahmin."

Icando threw his head back in a full-bellied laugh, startling most in the room.

"My friends," he said, wiping mirthful tears from his scarlet-glowing eyes, "How long have the Thalmor been trying to stamp out Talos worship now, in Skyrim and indeed, all across Tamriel?"

Ancano's eyes narrowed, suspecting where this topic of conversation was going.

"Long enough."

"And how _successful_ have those efforts been?"

"Well enough."

"But not perfect," Icando waggled a finger, "because those who would worship others than the Divines scatter to the hills. They worship in secret, assembling in little covens and cults at night, with hidden shrines built in the wilds. You _can't_ stamp out worship by broadcasting to the world that you intend to _kill_ everyone who worships differently than yourselves."

Ancano opened his hands questioningly.

"As opposed to…?"

"My friends," the Dunmer smiled, throwing open his arms, "Why not collect all your rotten eggs in one basket? Broadcast to the world that Markarth is the one place all the rotten eggs can _be_? Then all the cultists and secret worshippers come out of the woodworks and dark corners of the realm. They line up to set up their shrines alongside one another. And along with royal bureaucracy comes the order to _register_ each cult and worshipper…"

"This decree…" Varnde said slowly, understanding dawning in his gleeful smirk, "is a _trap_ …"

"And a rather ingenious one at that," Icando grinned, even as Ancano shot the Bosmer a look for speaking out of turn.

"What is it that you would ask of the Dominion?" he finally asked.

"Eternal friendship, brotherhood, and comradery," Icando answered simply. "We have secured the north of High Rock, the North of Hammerfell, and the west of Skyrim. Shornhelm, Fharun, Jehanna, Orsinium, Evermor and Dragonstar have all joined with us.

And now, a new Daggerfall Covenant threatening Skyrim will ensure that the Nords cannot march _anyone_ south to defend a distant Empire and a well-hated Emperor. Morrowind is still in disarray from the Red Mountain raining the gods' judgement upon them.

If it hadn't been for the Nords marching south, the Great War would have been very different, would it not?"

Nods of bitter remembrance were exchanged around the table, the veterans of the Great War and young elves alike acknowledging the facts of history.

 _"When_ the Empire sends its legions north," Icando continued, "And everyone in this room is wise enough to know that there _is no question as to that happening_ , it will be the final straw for the Redguards. Even enough for them to be willing to side _with_ an Aldmeri army landing in the North of High Rock."

Understanding crossed the faces of the Aldmeri in the room, several of them leaning forward unconsciously, their eyes bright with excitement and the creation of future plans.

"With an Aldmeri _and_ Covenant Army in the North," Ancano mused "the rest of the Bretons will join the _winning_ side."

"The Nords will not be able to offer effectual resistance," Icando confirmed, "And the Empire, when faced with your southern army amassing in Vvardenfell, will neither send any reinforcements north, or expect any help from a broken and squabbling Morrowind."

"And Cyrodiil will find herself _alone,_ " grinned Celera, stabbing a dagger at the center of Tamriel, "surrounded on all sides by the Faithful."

As more nods and grins were passed around the table, Ancano made a decision.

"I will pass on your message to the Crystal Tower, Friend Icando," he said, suddenly very gracious to the Dunmer sitting opposite. "I have no control over their answer, but I will give my personal support for this… _audacious_ plan."

"That is all we can ask for, _Friend,_ " Icando said in answer, equally over-gracious as he rose to his feet and raised his right hand, "May the Ascendency come soon."

* * *

 ***UNDERSTONE KEEP*  
MARKARTH  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

"Do you think they will take the bait?"

"Of course they will," Tala answered Serana, her hands working the mortar and pestle with practiced ease before her eyes flashed a brilliant blue.

 **"They will believe that we are that treacherous and deceitful because** ** _they_** **are that treacherous and deceitful,"** Potema scoffed. **"They cannot imagine anyone** ** _not_** **being as corrupt as they are. If we made overtures of overt friendship with the Dominion, they would never trust us. But because I claim that I am only luring the nonbelievers to Markarth to massacre them all in one fell swoop, I become, in a laughingly paradoxical way,** ** _more trustworthy_** **in the eyes of the Aldmeri."**

Serana nodded, but a pained expression now crossed her face.

"I think my _father_ has said something similar, once."

 **"For all your father's many sins, my dear, stupidity has never been one of them."**

"Now," Tala cut in, the eyes fading back to emerald green, "I think we are ready: shall we try this again?"

"Sure," Serana agreed, looking appreciative of the change of subject.

 **"Adding the Ground Bone Meal,"** Potema nodded, taking the hint from her host personality. **"Try it now."**

Serana added her blood, wincing slightly as the silver dagger drew a fine line in the palm of her hand. The crimson liquid mixed with the soul gem shards, the void salts, and the bone meal…

…and nothing happened.

"AAAAHHHHGGGHHHH!" Serena growled in frustration, knocking over the mixing vessel, scattering the contents across the floor. "This makes the _eighth_ time! WHY IS IT NOT WORKING?"

 **"I do not know,"** Potema confessed truthfully.

 **"Your Shards are ground tooooooo finnnnnnne."**

Both women whirled, Serana's dagger in hand, and Potema charging dual Lightning spells.

A great Mass of tentacles and peering eyes covered the wall that had once held the only door leading into the chamber. They drifted slowly, the distant sound of _thousands_ of whispers suddenly seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

Serana's eyes went wide and she sank to one knee immediately, clasping both hands in front of her, Serana following suit, but keeping her eyes lowered.

"My Lord Hermaeus Mora," Tala said in greeting, taking her cue from the Wolf Queen. "I bid thee welcome in this house."

 **"Rise, myyyyyyy chaaampion. Baaaask in my presence."**

Tala rose to her feet.

 _Finally: the one who brought me over in the first place. The First chance to get some REAL answers._

 **Assuming that little** ** _minx_** **of an Arch-Mage was actually telling the truth.**

 _She had no reason to lie to us._

 **That doesn't mean she wasn't** ** _wrong_** **: just look at her taste in men, for Daedra's sake.**

 **"I am greatly... HHHHMMNNNMM…** ," hummed the Woodland Man, Herma-Mora, " ** _pleased_** **with your actions thus far. My other children haaaave forsaken theirrrrrrr quests…they have forgotten the ffffffface of their Faaaaaather."**

"Your other children are _idiots_ ," Tala stated, rolling her eyes.

 **They have played their roles, and played them well. But yes, now they are…imprisoned by cages of their own making. But you… my child, you are unnnnnnnbound.**

Tala bit back the _thousand_ questions she had on the tip of her tongue, for once resenting the fact that Serana was there.

 _I don't want to sound CRAZY to her, talking about other worlds and other universes._

 **And thanks to overly-dramatic Herma-Mora covering the only door to this room, we can't even ask her to leave.**

"My lord?" Serana asked, looking up from her place for the first time. "Can you truly help us open the portal to the Soul Cairn?"

The entire _presence_ seemed to quiver with merriment and amused chuckling.

 **" My child… I am Herma-Mora, the Prince aaaaaaaaand Lord of knowledge. THERE ARE NO GATES THAT ARE CLOSED TO ME."**

 _Time to ask for a few favors from him, then._

"I would make a request then, my Lord," Tala said, her arms raised in supplication.

 **"Name it, my daughter, mmmmmmmy champion. Myyyyyy precious onnnnnnne."**

"I need Miraak."

 _All_ of the eyes narrowed at the request, and the answer came back terse and lacking the Herma-Mora's usual drawl:

 **"He is Gone."**

"Yes, he is," Tala agreed, "And you impaled him on a tentacle and then consumed his soul in front of the Dragonborn, and all that, yes, yes. But you and I both know that you would not let his treachery and his treason be so easily punished. You still have him in some dark corner of Apocrypha, and do not insult your champion by pretending you don't."

There was no answer, of either denial or confirmation, and the tentacles… _shrugged_ expectantly.

"I managed to win one duel against Llewellyn Hereon, yes," Tala continued, words pouring out in a torrent now, "but only because of his arrogance and monumental stupidity, which I cannot and will not count on _again_ in the future. The next time we meet, he will hold nothing back. He will suffer no rival to his power, and no threat to building his precious _legend._ "

The eyes flashed blue.

 **"And on** ** _that_** **day, my limited Shout and understanding of the Voice will not save Tala. And I make no claim that my own swordsmanship will prove the equal to a Firstborn of Akatosh."**

The eyes flashed green again.

"Herma-Mora…I will need a Dragonborn to _Fight_ a Dragonborn."

There was a _snarl_ of anger at the mention of the Dragon God of the Nine Divines. But then the tone turned thoughtful:

 **"Hmmmmmmmm… weeeeeeee will revisit this later, my daughter. First, we mmmmmmmmmust free Serana's Mother from the onnnnnnes that hold herrrrrrr captive."**

A tentacle waved, and suddenly the floor fell away in a spectacular display of magicka and power. A portal opened, and the square stones of the floor descended, seeming to form a stairway leading down into the spinning abyss.

 **"** **Briiiiiing her back with you, Daughterrrrrrr, and humble the Idiots who claaaaaim the title of Maaaaasster that is MINE ALONE. And all your purpose aaaaaaand Dessssssstiny shall be revealed."**

* * *

 ***INNER SANCTUM*  
FORGOTTEN VALE**

 _Vyrthur…_

Arch-Curate Vyrthur's eyes shot open from where he had been kneeling in deep meditation. Vampiric eyes flickered across the room, searching the hidden darkness.

A giant, eight-legged figure _manifested_ from the corner, a humanoid figure to top of the twisted figure.

 _Mephala._

A horned figure appeared from another corner, serpents trailing from the robe and arms.

 _Vaermina._

Another shadow seemed to _take shape_ , a giant horned face flickering in and out of mortal sight.

 _Molag Bal._

Vyrthur, ancient and powerful Snow Elf that he was, sank to one knee.

"Speak, Dread Ones," the impossibly-ancient guardian spoke in a low and reverent tone.

 _"Your vengeance is at hand._ "

"Gather the Falmer together."

"A new power stirs, and the Aedra's Ward upon Nirn wanes..."

"A Daughter of Coldharbour has arisen from slumber."

"One worthy of the Bow has arisen."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Thanks to everyone who has been patient while I completed my "Beacon's Effect" anthology. It was a fun and exciting conclusion to that chapter, and now I'm excited to come back to do my best to maintain a regular update to THIS story, along with maybe some longer chapters, now that I'm not splitting my focus between two different projects AND work AND university AND life (you get the picture).**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! As always, please leave me your thoughts, impressions, ideas and/or constructive criticisms in the reviews or PM me directly. I am always encouraged by your comments, even if it's as simple as, "Good Job," or "I liked it."**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

hopelessromantic34 – There will be much blood in the coming chapters, that is for sure. Whose and where, and why, however, remains to be seen.

jessetimm5491 – The Dark Brotherhood has their role to play. As for Paarthunax being alive, they Blades would only have Taltema's word against their precious Dragonborn's. After all, who is gonna climb that mountain to check?

Jimmyhall24, coduss, griezz, Guest, rc48177, NOTICEMEAUTHOR– The Dragonborn is a bit of a douche, yes, but he has legitimately done some pretty amazing things on his own: slaying Alduin, defeating Ulfric and Miraak, etc. earning the loyalty of mighty warriors like Vilkas and Farkas. Yep, the Thieves' Guild bounty is a bit of a dick move on his part, but we shouldn't forget the fact that this is the SAME guy who has literally saved the world.

kairbonson880 – Harkon's intro will be coming soon.

OnkelJo, Guest – Well, when you want something bad enough, and want to attract the best thieves in Tamriel…

Username Requested – Vampires can move in the day in the Elder Scrolls lore, they're just weakened. And even so, werewolves and Forsworn (and orcs) have NO problems fighting in sunlight at all.

XCOMHEAVY12, Malhavoc Shadowlord– Yep, Tala just throws everything out of whack, doesn't she?

Draco Oblivion – I can imagine the DB trying to do a lot of things right about now…

Guest – I think you're talking about Durnehviir, the dragon trapped in the Soul Cairn. And the answer is YES, we're gonna see more of him, don't worry.

jdboss1 – I'll try to work that into future chapters.

Lord Mortem – Maybe?!

Guest – I have seen several of his videos, yes!

METALHELLSPWN, johnny-beegood, wars apprentice, Lamreal, frankieu , Darka Silvath, derpysauce, ArchAngle319 – Thanks! I really appreciate your patience! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and the ones to come!

* * *

 **Thanks, everyone! Until next chapter!**

 **-Tusken1602**


	27. Chapter 27: Cairns and Chaos

**SOUL CAIRN**

"Where… the Hell… do these assholes keep COMING from?"

Tala whirled right, then left, punctuating her question with swings of the Mace of Molag Bal, scattering Bone-men.

" **Down."**

Tala threw herself low as Potema sent a spectral blade _just_ over her head, embedding in a Mist-Wraith before the blade and wraith both faded into nothingness.

" **This** _ **is**_ **the Soul Cairn, little Tala,"** Potema answered, summoning two more magical blades to her hands. **"The souls trapped here number in the** _ **millions**_ **."**

"Well, in that case we'd better… _whoa_."

Tala leaned back, caught just in time by Serana.

"Tala! Are you ok?"

" **She's still weak from her essence being transferred to the Soul Gem,"** the Wolf Queen continued, looking out over the lightning-ridden vista of the Soul Cairn. **"I still think you should have gone with Serana's vampire option."**

"No…way," Tala said groggily, shaking her head. "No… offense, S'rana."

"None taken," the Daughter of Coldharbour smiled, "But I think we are wasting time with these pointless side-quests."

"It was a LOST HORSE!" Tala protested. "And you can't tell me that summoning a spectral steed will _not_ come in handy when we get back."

Serana smiled, but there was a serious look behind her eyes. Tala was far from her full strength, even with the help of the Blessing of the Steed Stone.

" **We should focus ON getting back, then."**

Serana started at the voice behind her. It was still strange to see Potema now a separate entity from Tala. But the Wolf Queen's spectral form was identical now to the countless other soul-forms the trio had encountered in this realm, save for the thin blue lines that could be seen flickering between her and Tala.

"Right then," Tala grunted, accepting Serana's hand up to regain her feet. "Which way to wherever it is they're holding Valerica?"

" **I'm no expert in the Soul Cairn… Oh, wait, yes I am,"** Potema cooed, as Tala and Serana rolled their eyes in exasperation, **"But I'd say it was the GIANT DOME over there…** "

Following her gaze, Serana and Tala sucked in a breath as they beheld the white dome in the distance, illuminated by the lighting flashes.

Staying wary, the trio made their way across the wide plain before them. Oddly enough, the opponents that hitherto had been so numerous were now strangely absent.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Tala said in a low voice, looking around suspiciously.

"Mother?" Serana called as they approached the magical barrier, her voice growing expectant and almost frantic. "Mother? MOTHER!"

From behind one of the broken pillars on the other side of the shimmering veil, a dark figure stepped forward.

"Maker… It can't be… Serana?"

Serana let out an almost choked gasp of astonishment and joy.

"Is it really you? I can't believe it!" she breathed, then drew herself together, looking up and around at the magical barrier. "How do we get inside? We have to talk!"

"Serana, what are you DOING here?" Valerica snapped, sounding for all the world like scolding a misbehaving child than seeing her only daughter after countless centuries. "Where is your father?"

"He…he doesn't know we're here," Serana said, trying and failing to keep the hurt out of her voice.

" **And we really don't have much time to explain,"** Potema added warily, keeping _her_ eyes glued to the horizon.

"I must have failed," Valerica mused, now just muttering to herself. "Harkon's found some way to decipher the prophecy… and if that's true.."

She glanced up, apparently seeing Tala for the first time.

"Wait a minute… you've brought a STRANGER here… have you lost your mind?"

"Mother, she-" Serana began, but Valerica just walked down to stand in front of Tala, casting a disapproving eye up and down her frame.

"How is it, that a mortal is in the company of my daughter?"

"Look here, bitch," Tala snarked, feeling tired and altogether _not_ in the mood to bicker with a vampire queen. "I don't care about prophecies, about your pointless dispute with your husband, or any such nonsense. I am here because Serana _asked_ me to be here. Because your daughter for some insane reason, still loves her parents, and sees them as more than political pawns to be manipulated as she sees fit. Which is MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR YOU."

Valerica started, as if she'd been slapped, but red eyes narrowed at the young girl.

"The Prophecy –" she began.

" **-Will mean NOTHING if Harkon is dead."**

Valerica arched an eyebrow at the shade standing beside the other two.

"Serana and I are the only…"

"Yes, yes, the only daughters of Coldharbour still alive, and Harkon needs your blood to end the Tyranny of the Sun," Tala cut her off again. "And he needs the Elder Scroll you have to find the Bow of Auriel.

"How the _DAEDRA_ do you know that?!"

"I have assembled an army, and I have the strength of the Daedra on my side," Tala continued undaunted. "I can withstand the full might of Harkon. And with the Elder Scroll and the Bow, we can destroy him forever. And you and your daughter could live in peace."

Valerica opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it again, placing a hand on her hip.

"Even _assuming_ you could defeat Harkon (which I _STRONGLY_ doubt), this barrier is held in place by the four Keepers, who are also backed by an Undead Dragon. How do you intend to get them to release me, after thousands of years?"

" **Simple."**

Potema pointed a magical blade at the gathering clouds in the distance.

" **Here they come now... they can't lay claim to your soul if they're dead…"**

* * *

 ***FALKREATH** ***  
** **SKYRIM**

"I still say this is premature."

Faleen bristled at the old Nord's words.

"Yes, Raerek, we've been over this before."

The older man reined his horse in to fall in pace beside the Redguard housecarl as the column of armored soldiers marched past.

"We _promised_ Tullius and Jarl Elisif that we would make no move against the Forsworn without their support. We should have…"

"We _cannot_ wait," another voice broke in.

Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath joined the small circle of riders.

"Every day that passes, the Foresworn grow stronger," the young jarl continued, "If we can strike them _now_ , we break them _here,_ and we will restore the Reach as it once was."

"My lord," Raerek answered, keeping his tone even and respectful, "We are deeply grateful for your assistance in this matter, but the fact remains that we are not _merely_ dealing with Forsworn tribesmen. We have their vampire and werewolf allies to consider, to say nothing of…"

"When we take Fort Sungard back, it will be a staging ground for the reclamation of the Reach," Siddgeir interrupted. "Then the sons and daughters of Skyrim will rally behind us to put these Outsiders back in their place. Then Tullius and the Legion will not be far behind. And I will be at the Kingsmoot as the Reclaimer of the Reach, and the conquer of these upstart Vode… Vodah… dammit, what are they calling themselves nowadays?"

" _Vodahmin_ , my lord," Dengeir of Stuhn muttered from beside him.

"Oh, yes, of course," nodded Siddgeir. "High King Siddgeir Vodahmin-Bane… no, no… High King Siddgeir _Reach-bane_ , yes... that could work…"

"My lord Siddgeir!"

A scout came riding up, saluting his jarl, who merely nodded in reply.

"Our scouts have made contact with the enemy, sir. They report Forsworn ranks in Sunderstone Gorge."

"They are fools to match us on open ground!" crowed the younger man.

"They should have waited for us in Fort Sungard," Dengeir said warily, "Then we would have had to settle for a long siege, or risk losing half our force in a full-frontal assault. Time would have been on their side, then."

"Well, uncle," Siddgeir smiled, "Let us rejoice that _you_ are not commanding their ranks and battle plan. Come! I will lead the attack!"

Before any of the other riders could say a word, the young jarl dug his heels into his mount, galloping away as fast as it would bear him.

"I share your misgivings, my friend," Raerek said in a low voice to Dengeir. "There is something else at work here, or else they would never give us battle in such a manner."

"I would expect hit-and-run attacks," agreed Dengeir. "Not ordered ranks of battle. I have to go try and prevent this day from turning into a _complete_ disaster. Gods guide you, my friends."

The other two riders saluted as the former Jarl of Falkreath moved to take command of the infantry, bellowing at them to form ranks and prepare for battle.

"Half of our force are Black-briar mercenaries, the other half take their orders from Siddgeir in Falkreath," Faleen said bitterly. "They are only with us because of the promise of plunder and riches, and because that _fool_ wants Markarth's vote in the Kingsmoot."

"But they are with us, nonetheless," Raerek said slowly, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "And if we do _nothing_ , we risk that fool Siddgeir placing one of his sycophants as Jarl of Markarth, while we waited on the Empire. Come, we must take command of our own forces. Get archers and spell-casters in front, infantry behind…"

* * *

 ***MEANWHILE***

"They are coming."

Alva knelt at the feet of her maker, bringing a Dwarven sword across her chest in a salute. "Only the cavalry, as far as I can see. The infantry and archers are still behind."

"Nords," Movarth Piquine scoffed, shaking his head. "Give them an easy target, and they'll go for it, every single time. First rule of war, lads: if it looks too good to be true, it fucking is."

Chuckles went around the small circle of Vodahmin commanders.

"Right then," the Imperial vampire grunted, "Dyston, your lads will take the brunt of it. They ready?"

The Foresworn captain hefted a bone-sword from one shoulder to the next.

"We've been drilling for weeks," he shrugged. "It's time to see who's been listening, and who's dead."

Movarth nodded.

"Ualie, you and your Witch-blades support Mother Drascua. We'll need every spell you lot can summon."

Mother Drascua flexed her talons.

"We will show these _Nordhi_ the error in their arrogance, my pretties..."

The shaman nodded, twirling daggers in her hands as she followed the Hagraven towards the front lines.

"Kottir," Movarth continued, "When they realize they've bitten off more than they can chew…"

"They'll bring up their archers," Kottir Red-Shoal agreed. "We'll be ready... Commander."

The two men clasped hands, then turned back overlooking the battle. All the preparations had been made. Now was the chilling moment where all the plans and theories of battle were put to the test.

Nordic cavalry appears out of the trees. Looking at the ranks of the fur and feather-clad Forsworn.

"That's right, you bastards," Movarth muttered quietly. "Just a bunch of ragged tribesmen here, waiting for you to run them down and slaughter them. Come on... come on!"

Apparently, one of the distant riders decided to do just that, drawing a sword and flourishing it high above his head before spurring his horse forward. In twos and threes, the rest of the cavalry force followed.

"Daedra save us, they can't even pull off a passable charge."

The Forsworn braced, swords and axes in hand. As disorganized as the cavalry opposing them seemed to be, there was no question as to who would emerge the victor in a contest with the lightly-armored tribesmen.

"Hold," Movarth willed, less-than-silently. "Hold…"

If even one tribesmen lost their nerve, this would all be for nothing. And a trap sprung too early was just as bad as too late.

"Hold…"

The horsemen were now closing. Various war cries arose from the line of steel and hooves.

" _Now_."

As if in answer to his whispered command, the front rank of tribesmen threw their weapons to the ground, lifting ten-foot-long pikes that had been hidden in the long grass. Ualie and the Vodahmin mages fired their charged spells, and in an instant, a solid row of jagged ice spikes formed a frosted row in the field in front of the pikes.

Even the stupidest horses will not willing impale themselves on a spear point. The cavalry force was taken completely by surprise. The riders in front desperately tried to turn their horses aside, and the mounts themselves twisted and turned to avoid the sharp, pointy death that had suddenly materialized before them.

But the sudden halt of the front riders came too late for the ones following, and they slammed into the chaotic tangle of horse and riders, the sheer weight of the crowd pressing horses and men forward to their deaths.

Movarth winced at the pitiful screams of the noble beasts as they writhed and flailed to escape, not understanding why they were suddenly being subjected to such pain. The warriors he had no sympathy for at all: they had chosen to come and make war upon the Vodahmin, for promise of blood and gold. The horses, however, certainly didn't deserve to be dragged into the struggles of their masters.

In a flurry of conjuration magicka, fire and ice atronachs appeared, wreaking havoc in the crowded Nordic ranks.

Then the whistle of arrows came to the Imperial vampire's ears. Three pikemen crumpled, clutching at arrows in the joints of their armor.

"Shields! Shields!

At the shouted order, the ranks behind the pikes brought up wide Dwarven-style shields, as well as magical barriers, both in front and above to protect the pikemen. Arrows began to _plink_ and _thwack_ against them, giving the Vodahminranks the appearance of a single bristling creature.

"Kottir!"

"Just as our queen taught us, brothers and sisters!" the ex-Stormcloak called, bringing a Dwarven crossbow to his shoulder.

From the ridge of the gorge appeared three ranks of crossbow-wielding Vodahmin.

"Volley!"

The first rank of Dwarven Crossbows fired, four shots to every Nord's one. Then the first rank knelt, and the second rank rose to fire their four shots. By the time the third rank had fired all four of their bolts, the first rank had reloaded, rising in their turn to continue the almost nonstop volley of bolts that now bombarded the Nordic ranks.

" _Gods,_ our queen has a good head on her shoulders," Movarth muttered to himself.

"Molag Bal bear witness, but _I'd_ follow her anywhere," Alva said in agreement.

The Nordic cavalry and archer ranks were utterly broken now, staggering back towards the main party now. Any orders from the Lord Commander of the Reach were interrupted by the sound of howling in the woods.

"What is that?" Alva asked her maker.

The former member of the Fighters' Guild shrugged.

"The clean-up crew. Run up the signal to Vulpin and that rag-tag band of his: this should be simple enough for even them."

At the sign of the fireball sent skyward, Vulpin and the rest of the Redwater Coven spurred their undead mounts forward, scattering out for the gruesome business of running down the survivors, Death Hounds at their heels.

* * *

 **SOME TIME LATER  
**

In the dense woods that lay somewhere between the main battlefield and the safety of walled Falkreath, a young Nord stumbled through the woods, looking in terror over his shoulder. His shield and helmet had been long since abandoned in favor of mobility. In his hand was still clutched an iron war axe, which had saved his life three or four times over today.

As he stumbled through the undergrowth, he muttered curses to all the Nine.

"Easy plunder," the messages had said, in every tavern between Falkreath and Windhelm. The promise of the sack of arguably the richest hold in Skyrim had brought many adventurers such as himself to the Rams-head banner of "Jarl" Raerek. "Sweep aside some wild Breton tribesmen, and it will be ours for the taking," they had said.

 _Gods, what a fucking disaster._

His comrades had been hunted down like animals, with werewolves and Death Hounds tearing them apart, and vampires draining them of their own life blood. Twice today, he had been forced to strike down a one-time comrade, brought back to life by foul necromancy.

But he just needed to survive _today_. This was far from the first losing battle he'd fought. He just needed to get back to Falkreath. There would be a warm bed and a warm meal, and maybe a chance to buy some replacement gear.

Then, by Shor and Ysmir, he'd get his revenge.

Those damn _vampires_ would pay for-

Thoughts and plans for revenge were cut off by a dagger sailing through the air, striking him solidly in the back of the unprotected knee. With a shriek, the sell-sword stumbled forward, losing his axe in the process. Before he could regain his feet, he felt a second dagger thrust between the third and fourth rib. As darkness clouded his vision, a breathy whisper filled his ear:

" _Hail Sithis…"_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hope you guys enjoy these developments. Lots of stuff going down all at once, and next week… we meet the Dragon of Necromancy himself… and the consequences of that has transpired in the Queens' absences.**

 **Until then, please leave me your reviews with your thoughts, comments, constructive criticisms, or even something as simple as 'I liked it,' or 'Good Job!'**

 **Your reviews always make my day! ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!**

 **Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

coduss – Yep, indeed he did. And yes, it does. ;P

derpysauce, LordCanadian – the Daedra are always big on promises…

JimmyHall24, Lord Mortem– I don't think it's a question of trusting Miraak as an allyt: just of being able to survive if/when the Dragonborn attacks again.

Pkmnmstr9412 – I wish they came more frequently too! ;)

METALHELLSWPN – Dishonest people always expect everyone else to be dishonest… honestly.

Malhavoc Shadowlord, chaos cultist– BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!

hopelessromantic34, Guest, zapper990 – slight teaser for bloodbath here! And TalaTema's list of allies is not yet complete.

CodOfWar – I think the DB and AM are just trying to stick with the predictable so they will know how to react, and how to defeat what's coming.

Yep, the Dark Brotherhood are definitely everything you described… which suits Potema's purposes just fine. The real question is: who exactly is Queen of the Reach: Tala or Potema?

Guest, frankieu, jdboss1 Daedra worshiper, jonathan11197, BYOStories – Thanks! I appreciate the kind words! Hope you'll keep reading and reviewing!


	28. Chapter 28: Kingsmoot

***THE SOUL CAIRN***

Tala swung the Mace three times, the final one causing the final Keeper to crumble to the ground, dissolving into a black puddle of ooze.

"Serana!'

The vampire daughter of Coldharbour was whirling, now with twin daggers in hand, moving like a scythe through grain. Tala took them on at a run until the two women were back to back.

"Where _the FUCK_ is Potema?" Tala huffed breathlessly.

"I don't know!" Serana answered, sending an ice spike through a Mist-Wraith's head.

"Right then," Tala snorted, reaching back for the Rose at the small of her back. Unfolding it to its full length, she charged the staff and cast the portal beside them. Out stepped Teyrn'garwch, looking his usual disinterested self.

"Why have you brought me here, Tala of Wyoming?" the Dremora snarled. "This plane… it grates on my skin like razors! It cuts-"

"Yeah, yeah, we're all thrilled to be here, I'm sure," Tala cut him off. "Now put on your big-boy panties and FIGHT, dumbass!"

The Dremora looked horribly offended, but drew the two-handed Daedric Greatsword from his back all the same.

"FINE," he snorted, and waded into the skeletons running towards them.

"SERANA!"

The vampiress turned towards her mother, who was now unleashing an impressive stream of magicka towards the barrier keeping her captive.

"The fall of the Keepers has weakened the barrier!" Valerica said through clenched teeth. "A few more moments and…"

It was at that moment that a ripple of amethyst power struck the barrier from the other side, knocking both vampires back, and leaving the barrier stronger than ever.

"NID FILOK FAH HI."

From the thick clouds that covered the Plane of the Soul Cairn came a towering figure, with tattered wings outstretched.

"Oh Fucking _Shitballs_ ," Tala wheezed, "My first dragon, and OF COURSE it's _fucking_ Durnehviir."

Teyrn'garwch merely grunted at the sight of an _Undead_ dragon, charging from behind, the sword swinging at the beast's body.

And passing straight through it.

 _"The FUCK_?" Tala cursed, as her own weapon passed _through_ the dragon's flesh, the tissue and muscle simply reforming behind her weapon. It was like fighting a giant spirit made of ash, parting at the slightest touch, only to reform seconds later.

"MEY," the giant beast scoffed. "ZU'U NIS DIR."

A tail whipped, and Tala threw up Spellbreaker only to be lifted off the ground, tumbling head over heels several feet away. The Dremora and Serana suffered a full blast of the strange energy that Durnehviir seemed to _ooze_ from every pore, the vampire only just barely putting up a barrier against the onslaught, and the Dremora simply fading away with a snarl of agony.

Valerica was now beating her fists uselessly against the barrier, trying in vain to come to the aid of her daughter, only a few feet away.

 ** _Herma-Mora… I have need of Thee._**

The prayer was silent, as Tala struggled to regain her feet.

 ** _Father… HELP ME!_**

Suddenly, there was a rush of energy that seemed to course through Tala's veins. It was a terrible, _hungering lust_ , that threatened to overwhelm her. She shot to her feet.

 **THEN SPEEEEEEAK…. MYYYYYY DAUGHTERRRRRRRR…**

 **"JOOR!"**

The Thu'um echoed across the plane, torn unbidden from Tala's throat. The wave of power it generated struck the dragon full-on as he whirled towards the sound of his own language.

The word for 'Mortal' struck the dragon, the wave causing the giant beast to stagger, but otherwise, it seemed unharmed. But it stared at the girl from Wyoming as if she had suddenly sprouted two heads, or grown into a giant.

"VOKORASAAL," Durnehviir muttered breathlessly, slowly raising a clawed foot to stare at it.

Sure enough, where before, the skin had seemed papery and almost _wisp-like_ , now the muscle and sinews hardened and grew whole. The effects spread across the whole of the dragon's body, and for the first time, Tala got a _glimpse_ of what this dragon must have been like, so many eons ago…

 _Well… that's different from the game._

Then suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck the best, causing him to reel backwards, staring incredulously at the arcs of energy.

"FAAZ!' He screamed in a tone that sounded to Tala to almost be _pleasure. "_ GEH! FAAZ"

" **Strike, Tala!"**

Tala was shaken back to the present by the voice of the Wolf-Queen, suddenly beside her, casting bolt after bolt of lightning at the Undead _dovah._

 **"Now, girl!"**

Tala looked around, and found what she had sought: A giant Bone-sword that had been wielded by one of the Keepers of Valerica's prison. Running forward, and still flush with whatever Herma-Mora had done to her, Tala caught up the giant weapon that would have taken two mortal men to even lift. Hefting the weapon with both hands, Tala spun clockwise, holding the sword outstretched.

 _Just like shot-put back home in school._

Tala released the weapon… _now_ … and it sailed through the air, the blade plunging deep into the chest of Durnehviir. This time, black blood jetted from the wound in arterial spurts, as the dragon's roars turned to agonized gurgles, and blood spilled from his mouth in choked and steaming gasps.

Durnehviir tumbled backwards, causing the ground around the group to shake, and then the giant body began to glow, drifting apart into ash once again, only this time for the wind to take it and bear it away like leaves on an autumn day.

 **"We… did it,"** huffed the Wolf-Queen, her eyes wide with triumph.

"We killed it," Serena said breathlessly.

"No."

Serana spun to see her mother standing _just_ behind her, the barrier now gone.

"Durnehviir will not be dealt with so easily."

 **"And why the Daedra not?"** Potema asked in an offended tone. **"Didn't you JUST SEE-?"**

"She's right," Tala spoke up, pointing. "Look there."

The drifting pile of grew ash began to glow once more, and the swirling mass began to take shape once again.

A very familiar shape.

 **"Oh, for Sheogorath's sake,"** muttered Potema, charging two lighting spells again, Serana doing the same. Tala picked up her Mace and Spellbreaker again, double-checking to see that the Rose was still at the small of her back.

Durnehviir stretched his reborn wings and limbs again, and came crashing forwards on all fours, pausing just out of practical spell-range.

"Stay your weapons!" the dragon suddenly called out in the Common Tongue. "I would speak with you, Qahnaarin."

 **"This is a trick,"** Potema hissed to Tala.

"Who is 'Qahnaarin'?" Serana asked.

"That'd be _me,_ " Tala answered, stepping past both of them. "Back me up if this goes south."

 **"** ** _When_** **it does."**

Tala strode out to the space between the two parties, and then inclined her head politely.

"Drem Yol Lok, Durnehviir."

The dragon drew himself up tall, his head cocked in surprise.

"Greetings to you as well, _mortal_ ," he answered, "I had not thought to hold _tinvok_ with a _Jul..."_

"You have been Doomed to exist in this form for eternity," Tala shrugged, "Trapped between laas and dinok, between life and death. I believe in civility between seasoned warriors."

"PRUZAH. VAHZEN," the dragon _purred_ , "I find your ear worthy of my words. My claws have rendered the flesh of innumerable foes, but I have never once been felled on the field of battle. I therefor honor-name you 'Qahnaarin,' or Vanquisher in your tongue."

"I found you equally worthy," Tala answered, now making a small bow; a gesture which the dragon returned.

"Your words do me great honor. My desire to speak with you was born from the result of our battle, Qahnaarin. I merely wish to respectfully ask a favor of you."

"You wish to return to the skies of Tamriel," Tala said gently, "To sail unfettered, as a true _dovah._ "

"FOLOV: that is correct," Durnehviir nodded. "For countless years I've roamed the Soul Cairn, in unintended service to the Ideal Masters. Before this, I roamed the skies above Tamriel. I desire to return there. But…"

"Your time here has taken its toll upon you."

"KROSIS," Durnehviir nodded once again. "I share a bond with this dreaded place. If I ventured far from the Soul Cairn, my strength would begin to wane until I was no more."

"Then place your name with me," Tala replied, with outstretched arms, "and I will call your name from Tamriel."

The dragon was poisitively _beaming_ now.

"VISK, Qahnaarin; Do for me this simple honor and I will fight at your side as your Grah-Zeymahzin, your Ally, and teach you my Thu'um."

"How did you end up in the Soul Cairn?" Serana asked, now taking her place beside Tala.

Durnehviir hung his head low in memory.

"There was a time when I called Tamriel my home. But those days have long since passed. The dovah roamed the skies, vying for their small slices of territory that resulted in immense and ultimately fatal battles."

 **"You were a part of all that?"** Potema asked.

"I was. But unlike some of my brethren, I sought solutions outside the norm in order to maintain my superiority. I began to explore what the dovah call "Alok-Dilon," the ancient forbidden art that you call necromancy."

"So you sought the Soul Cairn for answers," Valerica guessed.

"The Ideal Masters assured me that my powers would be unmatched, that I could raise legions of the undead. In return, I was to serve them as a Keeper until your death, _Sosnaak_."

"They didn't tell you she was immortal," Serana said breathlessly.

"KROSIS," Durnehviir nodded. "I discovered too late that the Ideal Masters favor deception over honor and had no intention of releasing me from my binding. They had control of my mind, but fortunately they couldn't possess my soul."

"Is that why you're free now?" Tala asked.

 ** _Maybe this is another thing that's different from the games…_**

"Free?" Durnehviir shook his head. "No. I have been here too long, Qahnaarin. The Soul Cairn has become a part of what I am. I could never fully call Tamriel my home again, or I would surely perish. I only hope that you will allow me the precious moments of time there through your call."

 ** _Damn._**

"You honor me with your trust, Durnehviir," Tala answered. "I will call you, if and when I return to that realm."

"ZIN, Qahnaarin," Durnehviir replied, quivering in anticipation. "Do this for me, and I will be in your debt."

Then suddenly the dragon faded just as he had appeared, and the amethyst streams of energy shot forward, striking Tala in the chest, causing her to stumble backwards at the strange sensation:

 **DUR**. _Curse_

 **NEH.** _Never_

 **VIIR.** _Dying._

Tala straightened, shaking the swimming feeling from her head as her companions helped her to regain her feet.

"Well…. That was a hellova thing."

* * *

 ***HIGH HROTHGAR*  
THE THROAT OF THE WORLD **

"Well, this is a complete and utter _clusterfuck_."

Master Arngeir cast a disapproving eye towards Tullius, but the Greybeard made no sign of contradicting the statement.

"Well, we can say 'goodbye' to any hopes for peace with Markarth and the _Vodahmin_ ," Sarai growled, looking down at the map.

"Siddgeir," Llewellyn Dragonborn muttered, the name a curse on his lips, "Of all the bone-headed, brainless, _moronic_ …"

"Says the one who took her on _ONE-ON-ONE_ in a stupid, conceited duel," Sarai hissed, and the Hero of the Empire went silent.

"Master Arngeir?"

Another grey-robed figure stood in the doorway.

"Yes, Master Borri?"

"More come," the younger Greybeard answered simply.

The group at the table shot questioning looks at one another before moving to the main doors, which were being opened by Masters Einarth and Wulfgar.

Breathless, exhausted, and (in the latter's case) bandaged, Raerek of Markarth and Dengeir of Falkreath entered the famous monastery, accepting skins of water with wordless gestures of thanks.

"I am glad to see you alive, my friends," Balgruuf said, stepping into the entryway. "We had feared the worst, with the news of Jarl Siddgeir's…"

" _Former_ Jarl Siddgeir," Dengeir corrected, drawing himself up as tall as he could.

"With my _beloved_ nephew's _heroic_ death in _glorious_ battle," he stated, not even trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice, "the people of Falkreath have elected me to once again lead them as their Jarl."

Nods of understanding came across everyone present.

"And I have come to this Moot to represent those people," Dengeir said evenly.

"Well then," Tullius said, biting back a hundred questions and concerns. "Shall we get started, then?"

 ***SOME TIME LATER** *

After the _eighth_ recess, Sarai Gellarus, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold and Llewellyn Dragonborn withdrew to a short distance away from the others.

"Well, this is going… as badly as we had expected," Sarah said in a low tone.

"Elisif is determined to rule in her own name," Lewis said dejectedly.

"Can't say I blame her," Sarah shrugged, "I can see the appeal of ruling as a strong, independent woman who don't need no man."

"Hey," Lewis groaned, "I'm all for the Women's Liberation Movement of Skyrim, or whatever you want to call it, but in _this one instance…_ "

Sarah held up her hands in the "I know" gesture.

"If Ancano wasn't skulking about here, I'd want to drag you away from all of this and into a secluded room," Lewis grinned.

" _Lewis_ ," Sarah hissed, but couldn't hide her grin. "He's the official ambassador from the Aldmeri Dominion. He has every right to _be_ here, just not to speak."

"Which hasn't stopped him," Lewis groaned again. " _Gods_ , his endorsement of Elisif _ruined_ any chance she had with Brunwulf or Dengeir ever voting for her."

"Wouldn't be surprised if that was his goal," Sarah sighed. "A divided Skyrim is the best for the Dominion's interest. Makes sense he'd do everything to make this as divisive as possible."

"Well, it's _working_ ," Llewellyn Dragonborn moaned. "Balgruuf and Brunwulf, along with Dengeir, are dead-set against any High Queen that would take her orders from Cyrodiil."

"Poor young Idgrod and Kraldar are just here trying to do what's best for their people," Sarai nodded. "They literally don't have a dog in this fight. Raerek, bless his heart, cannot even vote, with the loss of Markarth."

"And that leaves Elisif, Brina, and Maven firmly in the pro-Imperial faction," Llewellyn continued. "If we're not careful, we could have another Civil War break out here and now."

"Legate?"

Tullius stuck his head around the corner.

"They're calling everyone back in."

The two Travelers shared a look, and then strode with the Imperial general back into the Meeting Hall that served as the dining hall for the Greybeard masters.

"ENOUGH of this useless bickering!" Dengeir shot to his feet before anyone could get a word in edge-wise.

Silence fell around the table as all eyes turned to the once-and-now-again Jarl of Falkreath.

"Is it not obvious what must be done?"

The silence that followed seemed to suggest that it was not.

"Markarth has fallen," he continued, matter-of-factly, but gently, nodding towards the distraught figure of Raerek. "Falkreath stands on the brink of disaster and invasion, thanks to my late nephew's incompetence."

The ex-Stormcloak Jarl stared dubiously at the hooded figure of Ancano in the corner of the room.

"Other…troubles… loom on the horizon," he stated tactfully, to the surprise of all present. "There are dark days ahead for the Empire, and for Skyrim, if indeed they are not already upon us.

The Security of Skyrim has never been their neighbors… or any bloodlines, or titles. It lies in the strength of arm and the skill of battle."

Nods and murmurs of agreement went around the room, from all present.

"Who found and recovered the Jagged Crown that lies before us?"

Llewellyn and Sarai both stiffened.

"Who avenged High King Torygg?" Dengeir continued undaunted. "Who slew Alduin the World-Eater, upon the steps of Sovngarde itself?"

He then stepped out from behind his place, and strode to the open side of the table.

"Falkreath nominates Llewellyn Dragonborn as High King of Skyrim."

There was dead silence in the circle. Then Maven Black-Briar stood to her feet.

"The Rift will own Llewellyn Dragonborn as King," she stated, bowing to her one-time housecarl.

Balgruuf the Greater was next on his feet.

"Whiterun would be proud to own Llewellyn Dragonborn as King."

Slowly, Brunwulf Free-Winter joined his comrade's side.

"Eastmarch will own the Dragonborn as High King of Skyrim."

Kraldar stood up almost simultaneously with the slender figure of Idgrod.

"Winterhold will own Llewellyn Dragonborn as King."

"As will Hjaalmarch."

Llewellyn Dragonborn slowly stood to his feet, looking towards the Arch-Mage of Winterhold with a look that clearly said…

 _What the FUCK DO I DO NOW?_

* * *

 **Author's Note;**

 **Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Some expected meetings… and some VERY much NOT expected gatherings.**

 **please leave me your reviews with your thoughts, comments, constructive criticisms, or even something as simple as 'I liked it,' or 'Good Job!'**

 **Your reviews always make my day! ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!**

\- **Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

XCOMHEAVY12, Username Requested – I can't really answer that question without a lot of spoilers.

frankieu – No, the rest of wins will probably _not_ be that easy.

rc48177 – Is that a quote from something, or did you come up with it? Either way, props!

METALHELLSPWN – Blood for the Blood God!

griezz, ranma hibiki, LordCanadian – Braveheart FTW. And yes, I always take time to save Arvak. :P

JimmyHall24 – How 'bout dem apples?

Sanguine Panguine, Bloody-Asphode11, SilverBladeStar – that's the one thing I miss when I play Skyrim: Actual tactics in battles. Rather than individuals running at an open gate.

coduss – No Ideal Masters in person, but… Undead Dragon?

Guest, hopelessromantic34 – Yep. Dumbass 101, right here.

derpysauce – I imagine that it wouldn't exactly tickle… :P

jdboss1 – And be forced to eat other people for the rest of that long, long, life.

Iskandar06, Leblanc23, ArchAngel319, lightning909, wars apprentice – Thanks! Appreciate it!

* * *

NOTE: Check out Katkiller-V's and my newest collaboration, Herald's Arrival, a crossover of our Mass Effect stories!


	29. Chapter 29: Many Happy Returns

***UNDERSTONE KEEP***  
 **MARKARTH**  
 **SKYRIM**

The two guards in front of the chamber shot to their feet when the glow could be seen around the cracks of the door.

"Fetch the Steward," Skoberth Black-Song barked to the younger girl, who swallowed nervously, but set out to carry out her orders. Skoberth straightened his shoulders, loathe to show his own nervousness, but it was there all the same as he kicked the door open. Sure enough, the floor had sunken down to form a swirling maelstrom of colors, the giant paving stones forming a staircase down into the portal.

 _So this is the portal to one of the planes of Oblivion_ , the vampiric bard thought, gripping his sword. _No telling what could come through: demons, monsters…_

Or the figure of his queen, followed by Serana and another dark-clad figure. Heaving a sigh of obvious relief, Skoberth sank to one knee as the portal closed with a _whoosh_ , the paving stones coming up to resume their places in the now-unremarkable stone floor.

"My queen, Lady Serana," he greeted. "It is life and joy to see you safely returned. I take it your quest was successful?"

Tala smiled at the kneeling bard, sending a thrill through his undead heart.

"Quite so, dear Skoberth," she stated, "And how have things gone in our absence?"

"Well enough, my queen," he answered, "Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath attempted an ill-advised invasion three days ago, but Lord Movarth reports that they were repulsed with heavy losses at Fort Sungard."

"Three days ago?" Serana asked incredulously, sharing a look with Tala and her mother. "How long… how long have we been gone?"

Skoberth bowed his head lower.

"It was a full week yesterday that you and the Queen departed, Lady Serana."

"A _week_?" Tala repeated, her tone matching Serana's, and then her face turned thoughtful. "Alright then," she stated. "Call Icando, and tell the Council to assem-"

Suddenly, the queen's eyes rolled up into her head, and she collapsed to the floor.

"My Queen!"

"TALA!"

The three figures rushed to the side of the comatose woman, when there was _suddenly_ a rush of blue magicka power that knocked them all on their backs. A blue orb lifted from the Tala's chest, and then rushed to the door, knocking the solid oak beams aside like cordwood. It rushed down the hall, bowling aside the Dunmer steward and the full host of the _Vodahmin_ court.

If any mortal eye or feet could have followed the blue stream of energy, they would have seen it rush through the myriad halls of the Understone Keep, before entering the Hall of the Dead with a blast of magical energy that sent undead draugr and Hellhounds scattering.

In the middle alcove, there was a set of skeletal remains, borne with great care and honor from Solitude and laid out on a stone throne. It was these remains that now drew the blue orb, rushing through the bones and settling into the empty ribcage. Then the spectral figure of the Wolf-Queen emerged, stepping into the hallway. The figure began to trace several runes into the dust of the Hall, chanting all the while:

 _"Arise, ye broken, ye betrayed._

 _Arise, ye righteous, and depraved._

 _Arise ye mighty, and be reborn_

 _Arise, ye faithful, and forsworn."_

The runes now formed a rough square, with Potema in the center. Turning to face each corner, she channeled her powers, pointing to each corner in turn.

"Come forth, Salmir the Magnificent!"

The spectral figure of an Altmer mage came into view, ornate robes flowing, and a massive staff in hand.

"Come forth, Juib the Eradicator!"

A Dunmer specter in ancient armor stepped forward, flickering for a moment, then coming fully into view.

"Lord Jagar Tharn, I summon YOU!"

A Bosmer mage, eyes glowing red, shimmered into view, folding his hands into the arms of an unremarkable black cloak.

"Morven Stroud, come forth!"

The Breton appeared in the final corner, as spectral in appearance as the other four figures.

Potema lowered her arms, panting heavily.

"I must admit, Potema Dear," Morven Stroud murmured, staring at the ethereal image of his hands, "When you found each of us in the Soul Cairn and told us this crazy plan, I did not think it was _at all_ possible."

"And yet here we are," Tharn muttered, a hand snaking up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "Against all odds."

"We have traded only one prison for another, and jailors likewise," Salmir hissed, glaring daggers at the Wolf Queen. "Why keep up this farce, Potema? Declare yourself and do away with the slip of a girl."

"She believes she still has control," Potema shrugged, "She believes we are still bound together."

" _Foolish_ CHILD," Salmir muttered, "Does she think taking a spirit to and from the Soul Cairn will _NOT_ have its consequences?"

"She certainly seems no _ordinary_ mortal," Juib's form interjected, "She bore _all FIVE of us_ across the Barrier of Despair. Such a feat would have killed most mortals, or driven them mad."

"Yes," Tharn agreed. "Her connection with Hermaeus Mora must aid her more than you described, Potema."

"It is another commodity to exploit, nothing more," Salmir waved a hand dismissively, "Potema: about our bargain?

"Yes, yes," Potema sighed theatrically, "Bind the girl, and give me control of her form, and I will return each of you to your burial grounds and resurrect your bodies."

"Careful, _child_ ," Morven Stroud stated, "This is not a bargain that can be dispensed with so easily."

"After all the centuries we've spent together in that Hell, you still don't believe my word?" Potema asked, affecting offense and hurt. "I thought we knew each other better than that, Stroud: _I certainly_ know you well enough to know that you are NOT a common Breton _merchant_."

The other three figures chuckled at that statement.

"It was a convenient enough way to pass the centuries," the Breton shrugged, "After all, what need has the Soul Cairn for one more Master Necromancer? I saw a need and I fulfilled it!"

"Typical haggling _Breton_ ," Salmir scoffed in disgust.

"Enough," Jagar Tharn cut the two off. "The power of the bargain will serve to keep us here, and allow our power to keep the girl at bay, but it will not last forever, _Septim._ For your own sake, keep your end of the bargain."

"I _WILL_ not go back to that Daedra-forsaken PIT," Potema snarled. "I will fetch your remains, or appropriate hosts for those of you whose corpses have long since rotted or been lost."

"See that you do," Juib stated. "After all, we cannot leave this chamber… and if _something_ were to happen to these bones now… why, _you_ wouldn't have any anchors left, now that your passage to and back from the Soul Cairn severed your connection to Tala Niwot?"

Potema drew herself up proudly.

"I do not respond well to _threats_ , Dun-Mer. That which I have said, that shall I _do_."

"SO BE IT," the four ancient mages stated, and then faded from view. Potema's figure drew itself back up into orb-form, and _rushed_ from the Hall of the Dead as quickly as it had come.

The party of figures around the body of the Queen of the _Vodahmin_ were all casting various spells, Serana and Valerica ones of necromantic power, Icando's a Master Healing Spell. Suddenly, the blue orb entered the room again, once again knocking all aside as it plummeted into the chest of the girl from Wyoming. With a _gasp_ , Potema sat up, eyes glowing white.

"My Queen," Icando said, kneeling. "Are you alright? We had feared…"

"I am quite fine, dear Icando," Potema stated, rising to her feet. "It was merely… _disorienting_ to cross the Barrier once again."

"Is Tala… is Tala alright?" Serana asked.

Potema reached over and cupped the vampiress' chin in her hand.

"She is well, and sends her love and greetings, Serana. The Crossings took a heavy toll on her, however. I have told her to rest, and to recover her strength."

Serana nodded, lowering her eyes to the floor.

"Now, my Steward," the Wolf Queen stated, flexing the arms of her host body in practice. "Tell me of this invasion by the Nords, and where we stand on our preparations for war…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Sorry for the long delay, everybody. Family health issues have been enough to delay this chapter until now. I wanted to write more, but decided it would be better to go ahead and post this short blurb, with promises for more to come! :)**

 **A twist and a turn for this story, indeed, and a full shout-out to** **METALHELLSPWN** **and the cameo of his OC Altmer Salmir the Magnificent. ;)**

 **AS always, please leave me your thoughts/impressions/suggestions/constructive criticisms! I always am glad to see a review posted to my stories!**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **P.S.: for those of you who would be interested,** **Katkiller-V** **and I have put together a cross-over of our Mass-Effect OCs, (his 'Another Realm' and my own 'Beacon's Effect' stories) named "** **Herald's Arrival."** **Feel free to head over and check out that story, too, if you'd like!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

XCOMHEAVY12, Leblanc23 – I always love Durnehviir as well! And no, the following battles will not be so easy, that's for sure.

METALHELLSPWN – Wish granted. :P

Bloody-Asphode11 – Probably. I imagine the laughter is more probable.

JimmyHall24 – lol as a wise reviewer once said: she's a strong independent woman who don't need no man…

Tinfoot, griezz, coduss, artembesmiley, Lord Motem, derpysauce, Dragon27998, Sayle, ArchAngel319, Tech Warrior Elder, Guest – Yeah, their 'canon' timeline was pretty much shot to hell already, it just takes something like this to make them realize it.

hopelessromantic - Well, Maven and the DB are actually quasi-allies in this universe.

FractiousDay – Well, considering that her forces had just _killed_ one of the would-be attendees, her odds were not that great.

frankieu – I know right?

rc48177 – Well done! I like it! And no, it is not just you… as this chapter shows.;)))

taylor – Herma-Mora is the Lord of Knowledge… I imagine he can teach anybody anything. And Durnehviir is lending Tala _his own_ understanding of his name.

Malhavoc Shadowlord – A lot of changes coming up, at an alarming rate, too, I might add.

BlastOS – Well, now the stakes are much higher for Potema and her skull, so I imagine so…

jdboss1 – To each their own, my friend.

kairobinson880 – I imagine you'll get your wish… :))))

Shadow Pegasus, Guest, Rinto, tjt – Thanks! I really appreciate you taking the time to review!


	30. Chapter 30: Wabba-What?

***THE MIDDEN*** **  
COLLEGE OF WINTERHOLD  
** **SKYRIM**

Arch-Mage Sarai Gellarus moved through the Midden, a Magelight-Orb following just behind her as she cast her hand over a door, the bolts and locks withdrawing before opening.

"Oh, look: she's back," droned a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, "The child who seeks to have that which she cannot keep, by preserving that which does not exist."

"Enough of your riddles and half-truths, Augur!" Sarah hissed, closing the door behind her and moving to the nearby work bench. "I have no patience today."

The Augur of Dunlain materialized over the nearby pool before floating over just behind the figure bent over a massive tome.

"Consuming the Eye of Magnus certainly gave you _power_ to summon me _,_ child, but it _certainly_ does not require me to obey your orders. Incidentally, does your 'beloved' know the true fate of the Eye, or does he still believe the story you told him about the Psijic Order stealing it away to another dimension?"

Sarai's breath caught in her throat, but she shook her head and carried on reading stubbornly.

"Lewis… he wouldn't understand."

"That the champion of the hypothetical 'Timeline' established by an extra-dimensional experience ABANDONED that same timeline in the name of accumulating power? No, I don't see how he wouldn't understand…"

"I AM the Arch-Mage of this college!" shrieked Sarai. "I had a DUTY! The Eye was too powerful to let it simply fall into the hands of others, Psijic Order or otherwise."

"Because of course only YOU can be trusted with power, am I right? What a novel and original concept. I can't think of a single madman or tyrant who said the same."

"Enough!" Sarai hissed, slamming the book shut and moving to the enchanting table, summoning a ring from a nearby jewelry box as she did so.

"You seek security through power, and confidence through knowledge of the future," The Augur stated, more gently now, the mocking tones gone. "Both endeavors are in vain. The future flows in response to each action of the present. It is not a river to be guided by dams and dykes, little Sarah. It is a breath: once expended, cannot be drawn back into the lungs and directed where you will."

"The only reason Lewis and I have gotten to where we are is because we were able to know what was coming," Sarah answered, focusing on casing the necessary runes on the jeweled ring.

"And now with the interference of this… _third_ Traveler, you worry that your precious timeline has been thrown into chaos," the Augur continued, and then the glowing orb seemed to nod. "You are entirely correct."

"Once again, augur: you prove yourself the master of the Obvious," Sarah rolled her eyes, taking the soul gem and placing it into the necessary slot of the table. "Either be _useful_ or else depart, and leave me to my own thoughts."

" _Leave_ you to your own _moping_ , you mean." The orb floated slowly away, before sinking back down into the pool. "Very well then: A Storm is coming, little mortal. A storm the likes of which this realm has _Never_ seen, in all the eons of its existence. And ere it passes, the fathers will not recognize the world of their children, and nothing shall be left unchanged, or unchallenged. And all the future of this world hangs on the shoulders of an undead Daughter."

"What does that _mean_?" Sarah hissed, now following the Augur.

"Save the Daughter of Coldharbour, _Arch-Mage_. Save yourselves."

And then with a sighing gasp, there was silence in the chamber once again.

* * *

 ***UNKNOWN LOCATON** *

"Serana?"

Tala looked around at the foggy woods surrounding her. She had awoken alone, and by that she meant well and TRULY alone: The Wolf-Queen was entirely absent from her side, and from her thoughts as well. She had none of her weapons, and was clad only in a simple shirt and breeches. The first order of business had been to find a good-sized stick to use as an improvised club.

 _Not the best, but if a sabre-cat or wolf tries anything, they won't go away unbruised,_ she mused quietly to herself as she attempted to find her bearings.

The woods didn't look like any part of Skyrim she recognized, but still she soldiered on, pushing through thorny underbrush and shoving aside offending branches, trying to find some kind of road or path.

All to no avail. She had no idea how long she had been walking. It had been dark when she had awoken, and it remained so still. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make out either of Tamriel's moons, or a single star in the pitch-black above her. She'd even climbed a tree to try and get above the undergrowth, only to be rewarded with the sight of…. Nothing. Woods for as far as her eyes could see in every direction, except for a _tiny_ flicker of light near the horizon, which almost looked like a campfire.

It was towards _that_ she was now tramping, doing her best to head in a straight line through the twisted forest. She had climbed two more trees to ensure that she was getting closer to the source of the light, and both times had confirmed that walking in a straight line through thick undergrowth was well-nigh impossible.

Just when she was losing all hope of _ever_ finding her way out of these woods, a tree suddenly gave way in front of her, and she tumbled out into a nearby clearing.

A clearing in which sat a single table, loaded to the brim with food and drink, and around which sat a _single_ figure. The rest of the chairs were occupied by skeletons, all of which were holding teacups and toasting one another.

 _Oh, God, no._

"TEA-tea-tea tiddly tea-tea-tea!"

The sable-haired figure at the head of the table was clad from head to foot in a suit of clothes that were as varied in color as they were in texture and appearance.

"OH MY!" Sheogorath called out, looking over at where Tala was considering running away in terror. "We have another guest! Look lively there, Napoleon, and give her your place, won't you?"

The skeletal figure to the Daedric Prince's immediate right turned to look at Tala, and then suddenly crumbled into pieces, leaving the chair empty.

"Napoleon? Get it? Because he's 'Bones-Apart?' HAHAHAHAH!"

Tala swallowed, and with an effort, walked slowly forward and took the seat the skeleton had vacated so dramatically.

"Wait!"

Tala froze, terrified of doing something the Daedric Prince would take offence at, and spend the rest of her days as a rabbit or a chicken.

"Wasn't Pelagius here during the game?"

Tala whipped her head to look him full in the eye.

"What?" she breathed.

"Now you take it from me," Sheogorath continued undaunted, "THAT man was the best Septim to ever rule. Well, except for that Martin Fellow, but he turned into a great whopping dragon, and that hardly sporting, is it?"

"You mean… you mean…" Tala stuttered, trying her hardest to recall what lore she could remember.

"Right then, here she goes," Sheogorath interrupted, placing a giant black staff on the table, "The Wabbajack! I give you the trials, and you just shoot the Wabbajack at whatever it is that appears. Isn't that what you have to do in that infernal computer game?"

Tala was sure her eyes were big as saucers, with a slack jaw to match.

"NO, you're quite right," Sheogorath continued without a breath. "BOOOO-ring! OH, wait! I know! I'll turn the Wabby into a GIANT DICK, and you have to wank it off or deep-throat the thing if you want to get out of here! HAHAHAHAHAHA, talk about quality fan-fiction! I think that one's my favorite!"

"Wait… what?"

"Goodness me!" The Daedric prince suddenly affected shock and mock horror, "I haven't made introductions, have I?"

With a sudden _whoosh_ , the table and chairs disappeared, leaving Tala to fall backward on her ass while Sheogorath stood and made a deep bow.

"Sheogorath. Prince of Madness, A.K.A. Titus Corvallis, Hero of Kvatch, Champion of Cyrodiil, Hero of the Oblivion Crisis, A.K.A Timmy Cornwall, of Columbus, Ohio, of the Good ol' US of A!"

Suddenly, there were red, white, and blue fireworks going off in the sky, and bald eagles were flying overhead. Sheogorath's apparel likewise had morphed into an Uncle Sam outfit, and he was waving an American flag overhead, belting out at the top of his lungs:

"AMMMERRRRICA, AMMMMMMERICA, God shed his grace on THEEEEEE!"

Then another moment passed, and the table and chairs made their appearance again, and the now normal-ish dressed Sheogorath resumed his seat.

"So what's the news from the old country?" He asked jovially. "How is Old Dicky Cheney? Did he make a good president, bless his heart?"

"Wait… what?"

Sheogorath drew his brows together, and suddenly his voiced changed to a _perfect_ impression:

"What ain't no country I ever heard of? Do they speak English in What? ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER, DO YOU SPEAK IT?"

"YES!" Tala managed, though she was pretty sure that it came out as more of a squeak than a word.

"Oh, Thank the many mercies and the Great Spaghetti Monster for that! Now, WHAT's YOUR NAME?"

"Tala Niwot! From Wyoming!"

"Really?" Sheogorath puckered his lips at the answer. "You sounded more like a cheese-head to me. Woulda put ya in Wisconsin, ja shoore, you betcha."

Then he leaned back and put his boots on the table.

"Sarah and Lewis send ya? E-gads, those dunderheads wouldn't know what to do with a Wabbajack if it was shaped like a giant dildo. They were all, 'No, Timmy: we gotta protect the timeline, _protect the timeline_. Remember the Hero you Used to be, blah fleckin' blah.'"

Tala even _chuckled_ at the dead-on impression of Sarai Gellarus' voice. The Daedric prince grabbed a giant drink and downed it, spilling most of the wine over his chest and face.

"Great Ghost of Charlie Brown, what _tiny_ imaginations they had."

Then suddenly he whirled back to Tala. "Quick! There's no time to lose! Gotta send youse back to where you belong!"

He then grabbed the staff and tossed it at Tala, who caught it with fumbling fingers.

"It's dangerous to go alone! Take this."

And then suddenly, the cockny accent and laughter died away, and an utterly serious tone of voice spoke:

"Good luck, Tala Niwot of Wyoming. Don't trust anything my brother promises you."

Then he clapped his hands, and Tala was suddenly _falling_ down a massive hole.

"After all," Sheogorath's 'normal' voice echoed after her, "We've all watched enough Hentai to know where those tentacles are going!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, hello everyone! I'm back!**

 **I had intended for this chapter to come out around Christmas time, but then my daughter decided to make her grand entrance to this world, and threw my carefully-arranged publishing schedule to the four winds. :)**

 **I am thrilled at the opportunity to be a dad, and obviously that will be taking priority for the lifetime that I have, but I fully intend to update this as much as possible as well!**

 **I appreciate everyone's patience, as well as your awesome reviews! Keep them coming, and let me know what you think!**

 **All thoughts/comments/ideas/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome!**

 **ROCK ON!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

frankieu – That's the trouble with magical deals, isn't it? Gotta read ALL the fine print. And then some.

Lord Mortem, JimmyHall24, Malhavoc Shadowlord, rc48177, Draco Oblivion, coduss, Speaker-to-Customers, derpysauce, Guest, itsMARWIE, wars apprentice, jdboss1, griezz – I couldn't have put it better myself, so I won't: Lawful Evil is still evil. As for the effects of it all, and how it ties into the Vodahmin, and the War… Spoilers.

METALHELLSPWN – Sorry I haven't responded as promptly as I would have liked, but as the note said, I've been pretty busy up 'til now. :)

Guest – While it's true that Saint Jiub is VERY different from Jagar Tharn, remember: they've been stuck in essentially a Limbo for near-eternity. That WILL have an effect on you, eventually. And what would you do if someone suddenly offered you a way out of that hellish existence?

Fallyna, Guest – Aww, thanks! I really appreciate that! Hope you'll keep reading and reviewing!

taylor – Yes. ;P

kairobinson880 – Happy Holidays to you as well, my friend!

Thanks everybody! Keep on reading and writing!


	31. Chapter 31: Helgen

***HELGEN*  
FALKREATH HOLD  
SKYRIM **

The bustle and movement of men, horses, and wagons filled the air, along with the ringing of hammers on stone and wood. Three figures stood on the watchtower, overlooking a blueprint of the planned city.

"All of Skyrim to choose from, and you want to make _this_ shithole your capital?" Vilkas asked Llewellyn Dragonborn, but the twinkle in his eye belied the seriousness of the question.

Tolan shrugged his shoulders, the heavy Dawnguard armor grating against one another as he folded his arms in front of him.

"No one is claiming it," the ex-Vigilant stated, "It's directly in the center of Skyrim, on the junction of no fewer than _three_ trade routes.

"Plus, it reeks of poetic justice," Llew chuckled, "Coming back as High King of Skyrim to the city where I was almost executed as a thief."

"You could have stayed in Whiterun," Vilkas continued, the Nord's expression turning serious. "You could have been High King _and_ Harbinger of the Companions."

Llew shook his head, and placed a hand on the larger man's shoulder.

"The Companions' place is in Whiterun, my friend," he said gently. "And they deserve a Harbinger who will devote his _entire_ time to their code and laws."

"It's just…" Vilkas stammered, "I thought…"

"Kodlack chose me, yes, it is true," Llewellyn nodded, finishing the man's thought. "But as Harbinger, it is likewise my responsibility to choose _my_ successor. And I can think of no one better."

"Here, here," Tolan stated in agreement, as the other man shifted in awkward self-consciousness. But before he could make a reply, an older man's head and shoulders appeared at the head of the stairs. The three men made identical nods of respect as the fine-robed figure moved to stand beside the Dragonborn.

"It's very striking, isn't it?" Titus Mede II asked, overlooking the expansive building site. "Rebuilding a capital city from the burned ruins of a war."

"Just so, your Majesty," Llewellyn nodded, to which Titus Mede only lifted a hand.

"Now, now," the older man chided gently, "You've insisted I call you Llewellyn. Now I must insist right back: to my fellow kings and rulers, and to my friends, I'm merely Titus."

"Very well, then," The High King of Skyrim replied to the Emperor of the Ruby Throne, "Titus."

"There, isn't that better than 'Majesty' this, and 'Excellency' that?" Titus chuckled, a sentiment shared by the rest of the assembled party. "I must confess, I half-expected you to take up residence at the Blue Palace, in Solitude."

"Elisif is still _less than pleased_ that I've accepted this bloody thing," Llewellyn replied, gesturing to the Crown of Skyrim on his head, a clever union of the Jagged Crown set upon the simpler Crown of Verity. "The last thing I want to do right now is sit in the Blue Palace and watch her _glare_ at me."

"She _did_ vote for you," Tolan clarified.

"It was that or take on all of Skyrim at the same time," Llewellyn answered, "It's hardly the same thing."

"She's a fine woman," Titus said calmly. Everyone present could _feel_ the implied statement, question, and suggestion all rolled into a simple statement.

"That she is," agreed Llewellyn cautiously. "There are few women in Skyrim who I respect more."

Mercifully, before more could be said of the topic, another figure appeared at the stairs. Even the Emperor of Cyrodiil nodded respectfully as the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold greeted each of the men in their turn.

"How are things at the College?" The High King asked, "We did not expect your return for at least another fortnight."

"Same as always," Sarai Gellarus sighed, "The schools are back at each other's throats, each one vying for students, time, space, and resources."

"And the classes?" Titus Mede asked, sounding genuinely interested. "I know the Mages' Guild and the Council have been watching your growth and expansion with great interest… and support, of course."

"We've got close to _fifty_ students, all undergoing instruction in the various disciplines," the Arch Mage answered, "And _then some:_ Phinis actually wanted me to sign off on experimenting with Necromancy again."

"Are you _serious_?" Llew's voice almost went shrill. "Don't tell me that you…"

"I shot him down," Sarai answered quickly. "We've got enough of the dead coming back right now. And enough apprentice mages have died on their own hare-brained schemes and experiments. I'm determined that will not be _my_ College. Though on that note, your Majesty, there were several affairs that I would like to bring to your attention… when you have a moment."

Lewis nodded in understanding at Sarah's implication, though his eyes flicked over to the older man beside them to explain his predicament: one did not merely ask the Emperor of Cyrodiil to step into the next room for a moment, nor did one excuse himself from his presence without a _pressing_ reason, one which would almost _certainly_ have to be explained to the Emperor at a later date.

"I ran into Lydia, Jordis, and the children on my way in," Sarai Gellarus continued, blinking slowly in acknowledgement of the silent conversation. "They seem to be adjusting well to moving to Helgen."

"That they are," Llewellyn Dragonborn grinned, sincere amusement banishing the worries and affairs of state from his expression, if only for a moment. "Alesan is determined to…"

"Father! Father!"

"My Lord!"

A sigh escaped the High King, but he turned back to stare down at the rapidly-assembling crowd at the bottom of the tower.

"Oh, _Akatosh_ , what now?" he muttered before turning on his heel and making his way down the stairs. But before the party had even descended half-way down, they met the panting figure of Alesan.

"Father, Father!"

"What is it, son?"

"It's… it's…"

"Catch your breath, pup," Vilkas chuckled. Alesan took a moment to do so, and then handed his father a leather-wrapping.

"A message, from the Reach."

Llewellyn took it cautiously, but gave his adopted son a curious glance.

"Who delivered it?"

"Barbas."

"That dog," chuckled Llew, smiling, "Is he here?"

"No," Alesan shook his head, "he just…appeared and told me to give this to you, and then…"

"Vanished?" Sarai asked.

The boy nodded wordlessly. Sarai rolled her eyes.

"He does that."

"What's the message?" Titus Mede asked.

Llewellyn unfolded the leather wrapping to reveal a single piece of tattered parchment, seemingly torn in haste. The paper contained only a single word:

 _-War-_

Beneath that was a large paw print.

"Curious ink," Titus mused quietly. "And the paw-print of a hound?"

"That is not ink, Sire," Vilkas sniffed in reflex. "And that is not the print of any dog."

"It is, Emperor," Llewellyn stated slowly, "The paw-print of a wolf."

Sarai took the paper and looked questioningly at the High King.

"Who could've…?"

Vilkas and Llew locked eyes, and an unspoken sentence passed between them. Sarai's eyes went wide at the same moment.

"Do you think this is from…?"

"I think that whatever our differences, her heart is still with Skyrim," Llewellyn Dragonborn answered slowly. Vilkas drew himself up and slammed a gauntleted fist to his chest.

"The Companions will ride with you… _Your Majesty_."

Llew nodded in reply, his mind racing with plans and contingency plans.

"Tolan, send a raven to Isran. The Dawnguard's time has come: tell him to bring every blade he can muster to Helgen. Lydia!"

The Nordic woman stepped into the watchtower at once, bowing her head.

"My Th… My King?"

"Summon messengers, and saddle the swiftest horses we have. Send out the Red Arrow to each of the eight holds: War has come to Skyrim."

* * *

 ***THE UNDERSTONE KEEP*  
MARKARTH  
THE REACH  
SKYRIM**

Serana followed the figure of her queen as they entered the Understone Keep, a pang welling up in her chest. It had been three weeks now since they had returned from the Soul Cairn, and there was still no sign of her beloved Tala, only the glowing blue eyes of the Wolf Queen. All of her subtle inquires as to Tala's health had been deflected expertly, but with no less finality.

 _Something's not right: Tala would not have missed_ THIS _for the world._

The sight that greeted them was impressive to say the least: the usually-sparse council chamber was packed with armored and robed figures, each one more impressive than the last. There was her usual Council members:

Icando Damn-Rune, Steward of the _Vodahmin_ – the Dunmer was clad in magnificent robes, their magical abilities hinted at their faint glow, or the whips of magicka energy that could be seen as he walked.

Vighar, Lord of the Undercity – by contrast, the Wolf-Queen oldest general was now decked out in a magnificent golden suit of Dwarven heavy armor.

Nestor Constantine – the Chief of Dwemer research was more subtly clad, but beneath his seemingly-simple robes, Serana could see the hint of concealed mail.

Helmmir War-Raed – the Lord of the Hunt stood in full _woged_ form. Even in Serana's time, werewolves' chief weakness had been their lack of protection beyond their thick hides in their wolf-form. Helmmir, by contrast, was clad from head to toe in custom-made armor. The sight of an armored wolf was quite daunting, Serana had to admit.

Kaie of Markarth and Borkul the Beast stood off to the side talking, the two former Foresworn commanders looking very different, with Kaie clad in the traditional feather and hide costume of her people, and Borkul in light Orcish mail. Movarth Piquine's leather armor seemed likewise understated in the room, but the Lord Commanders of the Reach cast knowing eyes around the room, seeking and searching for weaknesses and danger.

In another corner of the chamber, Laila Law-Giver sat with Kottir Red-Shoal beside her, the two ex-Stormcloak Nords seeming oddly out of place in a room of Orcs, Bretons, vampires and werewolves.

The rest of the room was occupied by the guests of honor and their various entourages:

Anorak Septim IV, King of Shornhelm and Grand Duke of Northpoint - At first glance, he looked like a normal Breton ruler. However, the slightly-pointed ears and his golden eyes betrayed his half-Dunmer heritage, and credence to the rulers of Shornhelm claims of descent from the Dunmer Empress Katariah Septim.

King Aelfric Guimard of Evermor – Save for the vampiric members of the room, Aelfric was by far the eldest human present. The scars on his arms and face spoke of the battles the man had fought in his youth, now long ago, but his eyes had lost none of their spark and vigor.

King Telstar of Jehanna – by stark contrast, Telstar had only passed his sixteenth year, having ascended to the throne of Jehanna after his father's brutal murder in the schisms and plots that constantly plagued the ruling houses of High Rock. The poor boy sat in armor that was _slightly_ too large for his small frame, and in equally ill-fitting but well-made robes of state beneath them, doing his best to represent his people in this room of daunting figures.

Vicereine Beira of the Free City of Fharun – the Red Lady of Fharun certainly lived up to her legend, though Serana's discerning eye could see that most of the red hair was now dye to cover the grey streaks beneath, but the scarred woman still exuded strength and power. The hook on her right arm told the story of Imperial 'justice', and the source of her hatred of Titus Mede II.

 _Four of the seven rulers of High Rock_ , marveled Serana. With King Burguk of Orsinium here also, in full Orcish armor, and that General… _Kematu_ , representing the Redguard regiment from Hammerfell, it truly did feel like a Second Daggerfall Covenant.

 _Except Daggerfall is one of the only kingdoms to NOT be here_ , she mused. _They and the Principality of Camlorn are the only Breton kingdoms to remain loyal to the Emperor of Cyrodiil. The Corsairs of Wayrest answer to no one._

"General Kematu, what news?" Potema asked, her voice rising above and bringing an end to the hum of conversation around the room.

The Redguard warrior grinned and stood to his feet, leaning forward on the table.

"The Aldmeri fleet passed Stros M'kai less than eighteen hours ago," he stated. "With fair winds and weather, they will land at Fharun within a fortnight."

"We have prepared a suitable landing site for them," Beira added, "a few miles from the city proper: it is a wide and sandy beach, with open plains all around."

Potema looked from face to face around the table, seeing the resolve and trust in the expressions that met her gaze.

"Only a year ago, we were scattered," she stated slowly. "We were divided, leaderless. We hunted each other or were hunted by others. We were… _Vodahmin_ : forgotten."

Nods and grunts of agreement rumbled around the room.

"Now…"

Amused grins and chuckles ran through the assembled crowd as she gestured wordlessly around the room, and several fists beat the table in a rumble of applause.

"When our newfound allies arrive, we will sweep all before us, in an unstoppable tide."

More nods and rumbled applause met her words, and suddenly the Mace was in Potema's hand and the head _crashed_ down onto the table map, the jagged points embedded deep into the section marked

 _Imperial City._

"By the power and authority I wield as queen, to safeguard us from all those who seek to harm us, to enslave us and erase us, I declare Total War until our enemies either fall before as vassals and corpses, or rise above us as severed head on spikes."

* * *

 ***CASTLE VOLKIHAR*  
HAAFINGAR  
SKYRIM**

"Vingalmo."

The Altmer vampire drifted from the shadows at his master's hoarse whisper.

"Sire?"

"I have had a vision."

"Oh?" Vingalmo forced the incredulity and amused disbelief from his voice. One did not rise to the inner circle of the oldest vampire clan in Tamriel by doubting the word of your Maker, regardless of his growing… _eccentricities_.

"The Dread Father…Molag Bal _himself_ has given me instructions: Summon the gargoyles, awaken the sleepers."

"How many, my lord?"

"ALL of them."

Vingalmo blinked and nearly choked in his surprise.

"Sire?"

A figure _blazed_ from the dark rafters above, and a fist of cold iron wrapped around Vingalmo's neck, pinning him to the wall behind.

"DID I STUTTER, WORM?!"

" _No my_ lord," Vingalmo managed, and then the grip relaxed and the robed figure vanished once again to the inky darkness. "But my lord: to awaken _all_ of the sleepers… to summon the _entire_ court… it will deplete _all_ of the castle's chattel and blood stores."

In answer, there was the ripping and tearing of fabric, and two clawed wings appeared in the dim moonlight coming from the open window. The dark figure twisted and warped as Harkon assumed his full form as the Vampire Lord of Volkihar.

"PERFECT."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **"Understand this: things are now in motion that cannot be undone." Gandalf the White**

 **I'm very excited that we are nearing the crux of the story. Full shout-out for the Total War section goes to** **rc48177** **, whose review was too epic to not use.**

 **No, Tala did not appear in this chapter. Yes, that should worry many of you. But yes, there is a plan [evil chuckle].**

 **I thank you all for your very kind reviews/DMs concerning congratulating me on my daughter's birth. Thus far, parenthood has been a restless, sleepless, awesome adventure that I would not trade for the world.**

 **The paradoxical effect of all this is that while staying up into the wee hours of the morning has allowed me to put more work and thought into the future of this story, and I hope you will all keep reading and reviewing to let me know how I'm doing.**

 **All thoughts/comments/ideas/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome at my table!**

 **ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **\- Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24 – 'Happily ever after' assumes that there are no more challenges left in the world. What a boring place that would be.

Lord Mortem, Guest, Umodin, bill, RInto, jdboss1, mwjen – Thanks! You all are awesome!

griezz, Fallyna, Malhavoc Shadowlord, ArchAngel319 – Last Traveler, I swear [crosses fingers behind back]. And yes, believe it or not, the Arch-Mage has her own secrets, as well as the Dragonborn. All it takes is a few lies and well-intentioned hypocrisies for a hero to find themselves the villain of their story.

Guest251, METALHELLSPWN, MeraHunt, itsMARWIE, kairobinson880, ranma hibiki, Guest, The Nameless King, Tech Warrior Ender – I had fun with Sheo. You never know what you are going to get with him, and I love it (though was horribly bored with the in-game Wabbajack quest).

rc48177 – Sheo probably hangs out with Confession Bear and Unpopular Opinion Puffin in his spare time. And yes, the presence of a Traveler means that the timeline has indeed gone to shit.

Wulfrye, N3oZ– COMING UP NEXT: Seeking Knowledge in Apocrypha!

Annoy mouse – There is only one Wolf-Queen of Skyrim. And she does not share power…

The Invisible Pretender – To be honest, the last 30 chapters could be condensed into about 10, I was just adding VERY short chapters between my ME fanfics.

Tracer28 – Glad to have you here! A lot of your questions can't be answered without spoilers, but most of them will be answered in the coming chapters! Stay tuned!

EE-RAH!


	32. Chapter 32: Seeking Knowledge

Falling

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Falling

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.

.

Falling.

It seemed to Tala that she had done an awful lot of that since she had come to Tamriel. She had long since stopped screaming, and now the air was rushing past her ears, and had long since unraveled her carefully-braided hair, causing the ends to whip painfully across her face and shoulders.

She had tried counting in her head, in an attempt to calculate how _far_ and how _long_ she had been falling. She had stopped when she had gotten to five hundred… for the third time.

She was beginning to think this was all a cruel joke of Sheogorath's, to put her into a never-ending pit of darkness, when suddenly, the blackness around her was penetrated by a single dot of light. Her eyes desperately locked onto the pin-point, which began to grow larger and larger by the second. She had a dizzyingly-disorientating moment before she realized that _she_ was falling _towards_ the speck, rather than vice versa.

The blackness opened around her, and suddenly she was in the open air once again. Only this time, the very sky itself was a brownish-green tint.

 _Apocrypha…_

The view looked _eerily_ familiar, given the view Tala got from riding the dragons in the game.

 _But I'm not ON a dragon now,_ came the panicked thought. _And there is nothing to break my fall._

Despite her best efforts, a scream escaped her lungs as the ground came _hurtling_ towards her, and she flung her hands in front of her face in an involuntary gesture to protect herself.

And felt soft… _parchment_ on her palms.

Opening her eyes, she saw that a stretch of the island below had _risen_ to meet her, meeting her free-fall at _just_ the right angle, and was now _slowly_ leveling out to bring her fall into a gentle stop, with Tala ending up rolling into in the middle of a giant courtyard.

Surrounded by Seekers and Lurkers.

 _Oh. SHIT._

There were dozens of them all around her, in various shapes and sizes. Tala's hand instinctively went to where she kept the Mace, and cursed its absence for the tenth time that hour.

 _OK…_ she thought. _I have absolutely NOTHING with which to defend myself._

A nearby Seeker floated towards her, and then suddenly raised his hand and made a "come here" gesture.

"What?" Tala asked aloud.

The Seeker made the gesture again, this time with both hands, more frantically than before. Tala very slowly took two steps towards him.

And nearly had a heart attack when something _slammed_ into the ground behind her. Whirling towards the noise, Tala was greeted by the sight of the Wabbajack, sank nearly half-way into the 'ground' beneath their feet.

 _Oh my god. I completely forgot all about that._

She reached out and with an effort, drew the staff out of the ground. Tala looked back at the Seeker who had gotten her out of the way of the falling weapon.

"Um… thank you."

The creature's black eyes widened, and then it bowed low, the tentacles of its 'beard' touching the floor.

"Umm…"

Nothing moved to attack her. In fact, none of them were moving at all. No breaths, or even _subtle_ shifts of movement or weight. The assembled denizens of Apocrypha just… stood there, still as statues.

"OK, then. Does anyone know… how I can get out of here?"

No one moved.

"Um… Can I speak to someone in charge? Herma-Mora, perhaps?"

At the mention of their master's name, each of the creatures took a small step back in union. Then a Seeker (the first one) stepped forward and bowed low, raising a single hand to point down one of the many paths sprouting from the courtyard.

"This way?" Tala clarified, taking a step in that direction. "Hermaeus Mora is this way?"

The Seeker bobbed again, but made no other answer. As she made her way towards that direction, the giant Lurkers bent their knees before her. The other Seekers, and the host of smaller creatures that Tala had never even _seen_ before likewise made deep bows before stepping out of her way, _very slowly._

 _Weird. And Creepy._

The familiar sight of the crowded and narrow hallways of Apocrypha appeared in front of Tala. Books and parchments peeked from every conceivable angle of the walkway. Every time she came to a gate, however, instead of having to touch the little… _flower-thingys_ , the metal bars bend and unbound before her, lying flat on the ground. At each crossroad, a Seeker bobbed, waggling its long fingers in a certain direction. Finally, Tala crossed over a _long_ bridge to come to a central island, upon which sat two dragon skeletons.

 _Oh my god… this is the Summit._

From the central black pool, long tendril emerged, heaving forth the familiar many-eyed vortex into view.

 **"Welcommmmmmme… daughterrrrrrrr."**

Tala bent her knee before the many-eyed Daedric Prince.

 **"By the Ssssstaffffff in your hand, I see my brotherrrr wwwwwwwas as charming assssss always."**

"Herma-Mora," Tala stated slowly, "Sheogorath said he was also a Traveler. Were you the one who brought him over?"

 **"Hmmm…. Yes, aaaaaaaand noooooo. Herma-Mora did, buuuuuuut I did not."**

"I don't… I don't understand."

The tentacles in front of her made a dismissive motion.

 **"Thissss is a converrrrrrsation for a different time, mmmmmmy child. For now, we have mmmmmmore dire tidings to deal with: You have been betrayed."**

Tala blinked. "Pardon?"

The eyes in front of her half-closed, as if in amusement. But the voice came clipped and short now, devoid of the usual drawl.

 **"Potema Septim has seized control of your body, using the power of four souls she has freed from the Soul Cairn. Even now, she moves to join with the Aldmeri army landing in the north of High Rock."**

 _NO._

 _No. No. NO._

"NO!"

Tala whirled, striking with the Wabbajack against the nearby skeletal figures.

"NO, NO, NO, No! WHY!? WHY!? Why? We were doing SO WELL? We had such a good thing going! Why would she… I thought we were…"

A tentacle raised and waggled itself in front of her.

 **"My daughterrrrr,"** came the amused tones of Herma-Mora **, "think very carefully before claiming to be friends with the Wolf-Queen of Solitude."**

"We were _partners_ ," Tala answered, hearing the sentence fall flat, even on her own ears.

 **"Inssofarrrrr as she needed you,"** Mora answered. **"When you crossed** ** _back_** **into the Soul Cairn, youuuuuuu severed the connection that booooooound you two in the original incantation."**

"And when we came back…" Tala said, beginning to mentally kick herself for her own stupidity.

 **"There was nnnnnnnothing binding the Wolf-Queen to this realm, beyond her own remainsssss. And for what she haaaaaaaas planned, she cannot remain a spectral being."**

The Wabbajack fell from Tala's limp fingers, and she slowly sank to her knees.

"What do I do?" she asked numbly.

A tentacle lashed out, _striking_ her across the cheek. With a panicked _yelp_ , Tala whirled to see the Wabbajack in another tentacle's grasp, being handed back to her.

 **"Do? My daughter, who do you think** ** _gave_** **those necromancers the spell to recall Potema from her imprisonment?**

 **Who brought the Dragonborn that set events in motion to SAVE THIS REALM FROM THE DOOM OF ALDUIN THE WORLD-EATER, firstborn and beloved of AKATOSH HIMSELF, HIMSELF?**

 **WHO Brought the Arch-Mage across the VOID of the BEYOND, to confine and contain the EYE OF MAGNUS?**

 **WHO!?"**

Tala stretched out her hand and took the offered staff.

"Will you aid me… Father?" she managed at last.

 **"DAUGHTERRRRRRR…"**

The tone was gentle, almost caring.

 **"I AM HERMAEUS MORA. THERE IS NO DOOR THAT IS CLOSED TO ME. But all magic has a price."**

 _There it is._

 _"_ What will it cost me?" Tala asked, straightening up and looking directly into the eye in front of her.

 **"Nothing. And everything."**

"What does that mean?"

 **"All will be made clear in time. But for now, I WILL RETURN YOU to Tamriel and the mortal realm."**

"To my own body?"

The eyes narrowed in frustration (or was that _irritation?)_.

 **"The Wolf-Queen's magicks, feeeeeeeeble as they are, are sufficient to prevent that…for now. No, you mussssssssst take a different path."**

"The Black Books," Tala answered, her mind racing.

The entire mass seemed to quiver with amusement.

 **"DEAR Lewis has been EVERRRrrrrrr so careful to collect them all in one place, after all. He and Sarah believe that iiiiiiiimprisoning them behind lock and key can** ** _actually_** **prevent their use.**

 **They have forgotten the face of their father. And they have forgotten that there are other realms than these."**

"So…" Tala mused, "Using the black books as a doorway gets me into Skyrim… but… what then? I don't have a body. Corporeal Body, I mean…"

 **"I HAVE ONE YOU CAN USE."**

A swirl of magical power around a skeleton on the floor, and the body and frame of a man came into being around the bones. A cry of pain and torment split the air and the body collapsed on the ground, the man panting heavily.

 **"RRRRRRRRise, Miraak… yourrrrrrr Master is not done with you yet."**

The breath caught in Tala's throat as she beheld the First Dragonborn. The frame was emaciated and scarred, a far cry from her memories of the strong, robed figure from the game. But the voice that answered the Prince had lost none of its edge of confident defiance:

"Herma-Mora. You are no master of mine."

 **"Hmmm… perhaps not. But HERrrrrrrr, on the other hand…"**

A tentacle _flicked,_ and suddenly Tala felt a _pull_ on her own chest, and suddenly… everything went black.

Twin cracks opened in the darkness and through them, Tala could see two hands, turning over and over, examining the staff they suddenly held.

 _Oh my god. I'm… IN MIRAAK._

"WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?" she heard Miraak screech. "WHAT ABOMINATION HAVE YOU COUGHED FORTH NOW?"

 **"You wwwwwwwwwill bear my daughter to Tamriel aaaaaand aid her in recovering her** ** _own_** **body."**

"I would rather gouge out my own eyes than do your bidding."

 _Hey now, bucko, I'm not thrilled about this either,_ Tala retorted.

 **"Do this, and our contract will be complete. Your debt to HHHHHHHHHermaeus Mora will be paid. INNNNNNNNNN FULL. And you will be mmmmmmmaster of your own fate once again."**

There was a long pause, and both hands went to the staff.

"You will renounce all claim on my soul?"

 **"I Shallllllllll. Butttttttt be warned, Dragonborn: my daughter's spirit has but to** ** _speak_** **my name, and your body willlllllllllll be dragged back to the deepest pits of Apocrypha, and from THAT betrayal… there will be no return… I PROMISE YOU."**

Tala felt a _very real_ pang of fear and terror course through Miraak's spine, and the man's fists curled around the Wabbajack in his hands.

"So mote it be."

 **"Thennnnnn Go forth, and know that Herma-Mora watches over thee."**

A pedestal suddenly arose from the ground in front of Miraak, and on it was a book, blacker than the night itself. Miraak braced, and then flung open the book. Green tentacles wrapped themselves around the man, entwining their way into ear canals, behind the eyeballs, into the nasal cavities, and down the throat as the mouth involuntarily opened to scream.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **And the twists and turns keep coming. :P So yes, Tala is now a passenger in Miraak's body, and she's got to get back to HER OWN body, which is being controlled by Potema... it's like a game of musical chairs... except, you know, with bodies and souls.**

 **Hope you guys enjoy, and i hope to get the next chapter out to you guys very soon! Keep on reading and reviewing!**

 **All thoughts/comments/suggestions/ideas/constructive criticisms are welcome!**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

rc48177 - Thank YOU, my friend. Keep on being awesome!

TechWarriorEnder - I KNOW, RIGHT?

Malhavoc Shadowlord, derpysauce, NotRevan, fuzzyidioms, jdboss1, ShadowPegasus - Things are certainly heating up! I'm excited about the next couple chapters! I certainly agree that the fun part of this story is the "grey" area, and I'm also hoping not to lose it as well.

MeraHunt - I hope so, too. ;)

JimmyHall24 - Umm... Spoilers.

N3oZ - I do have a plan on where I want the story to end, but hopefully it won't be anytime soon.

Thanks everyone! EE-RAH!


	33. Chapter 33: Return of the First

***SOMEWHERE IN SKYRIM***

A Dwarven chest tumbled from its place, the sound of metal giving way as the ancient locks sundered. The lid fell open, and a man's body spilled out onto the stone floor, along with several black tomes.

 _OH MY GOOOOOD SHIT GODDAMMIT FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCKING FUCK FUCKING GOD SHITTING DAMN-_

"Calm yourself, girl," Miraak wheezed, while panting himself and attempting to still his heart-rate.

 _NEVER. AGAIN. GOD DAMN, Never. Again._

"On that, at least, we can agree," the man coughed, and straightened on the cold stone floor. "Traveling by Black Book is… never a pleasant experience."

 _OK… where are we?_

"Excellent question."

Miraak made a motion, and a ball of Magelight appeared. A stone floor appeared, illuminating the now-broken Dwarven chest, filled with more Black Books of Hermaeus Mora.

 _I think… this might be part of the Ratway in Riften._

"That means nothing to me," Miraak huffed, craning his neck to look around at the large room.

 _Um…. Can you… Just…. Um…?_

Miraak peered down and realized that his thin frame wasn't wearing a stich of clothing.

"Oh, _Akatosh_ , woman, tell me that this is not the time you've seen a naked man."

 _No, I just… just… god, what are those?_

In the room around them, dark figures loomed on the edges of the flickering light. Miraak brought the Wabbajack in his hands to a ready position, throwing a second Magelight towards the unidentified forms.

 _Oh my God._

Numerous manikins lined the walls, each one bearing a different suit of armor. Two stood empty, but…

 _That is a suit of Dark Brotherhood armor. And Falmer Armor!_

 _That is the cloak of Ulfric Stormcloak. The bear-head helmet has to be Galmar Stone-Fist's. And that over there must be the Thieves' Guild Master Armor._

"The Black Books are here," Miraak mused quietly. "It makes sense that the… _Dragonborn_ would store other trophies here as well."

On a nearby table, several masks gleamed in the light.

 _Oh my god, are those…?_

"Dragon Priest Masks,"Miraak answered breathlessly, staring at each one in their turn. "Kohnahrik, Krosis, Morokei, Volsung, Nahkriin, Hevnoraak, Ahzidal, Zahkriisos, and Dukaan. _Akatosh,_ he has defeated them all..."

 _That's right… you knew them._

"I knew some, and knew _of_ the others," Miraak admitted. "But where…?"

The last manikin bore very familiar-looking robes, weapons, and mask. Miraak reached forward eagerly…

…and then punched himself in the face.

"OBLIVION!"

 _Don't be stupid. We can't go around wearing your mask and robes!_

"They are MINE!"

The hand came up again, this time slapping the man's own cheek.

"DAMN IT, GIRL!"

 _Listen, you giant idiot! You walk out of… wherever we are, dressed like the first Dragonborn, and word will spread like wildfire of your return. We need to be SNEAKY, for Daedra's sake!_

"I AM the first Dragonborn! I. DO. NOT. Sneak."

 _You're gonna make me do it, aren't you?_

"Do what?"

 _FINE. Then I will utter Herm- HIS NAME here and now, and be done with it._

The First Dragonborn's hand clutched the Wabbajack until the knuckles turned white.

"FINE," Miraak managed between clenched teeth. "What. Do You. Suggest?"

 _Well for starters… look at all this stuff!_

Miraak's head involuntary whipped to the left, revealing racks of weapons, and shelves of books and all kinds of objects that _shimmered_ with magical energy.

 _The Dragonborn must have spent ages collecting it all from every corner of Skyrim._

"Your point?" sighed Miraak.

 _It would be a real shame if it all… disappeared._

"That… is petty to the extreme."

 _But appealing nonetheless, right? Don't lie to me,_ 'Dovahkiin' _, I can feel everything that you d…. Really? THAT turns you on?_

Miraak rolled his eyes in exasperation, and reached over to grab a cloak from another manikin.

"I may not be able to wear it openly, but I will be _damned_ before I leave it behind in that _Dur Mey_ 's… treasure trove as a trophy."

Miraak picked up a burlap sack that _seemed_ to glow ever so slightly, sweeping his mask and robes into the bag, and doing the same with his sword. When the weapon entered the drawstrings, however, the bag did not change its shape, the long, unshapely weapon seemingly disappearing into the sack.

 _Huh._

Miraak reached slowly towards his staff, feeling the familiar weight almost _leap into_ his hand. He placed the end into the bag, and slowly inserted the entire staff into the small-looking sack. Same as before, the weapon disappeared without leaving any visible mark on the bag.

"Useful enchantment," he marveled, testing the weight of the bag. While it didn't feel _empty_ , it certainly weighed less than the combined contents, whose weight he well knew.

 _All right, all right_ , Tala stated, rolling her spectral eyes. _But let's not go COMPLETELY crazy with how much we ta – Oh my god, is that the Ebony Blade of Mephala?_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Let the shenanigans commence.**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Tech Warrior Ender, griezz, N3oZ – It'll be a different experience for her, to be sure. But it also lends itself to more opportunities.

MeraHunt, Guest, jdboss1 – Awww, thanks so much! The quality of the story is directly proportional to the feedback I've received from readers like yourself!

METALHELLSPWN – I will DM you if I've got a chapter featuring Salmir!

JimmyHall24 – It'll certainly be… concerning for some of the Vodahmin.

Zeru'Xil – Hermaeus Mora is no Nocturnal, to be sure, but he can drive a hard bargain.

FractiousDay – I tried to illiterate his long, sighing speech from the games. It is a little awkward and off-putting, and that's kinda the whole point of having to listen to him speak at all.

Faelurian – Thankee-sai, gunslinger. ;)

rc48177 – Keep on being awesome!

Guest – Did you absorb Miraak's soul in the game, or just get back the dragon souls he'd stolen from YOU in the course of playing "Dragonborn" DLC?

ROCK ON, everyone!

-Tusken1602


	34. Chapter 34: Landing Party

***BAY OF FHARUN*  
WROTHGAR  
HIGH ROCK**

The entire beach was a bustle of frenzied activity as Altmer, Bosmer, and Khajit soldiers and sailors set to work unloading the ships that beached themselves on the white sand. As the beach filled up quickly, other ships lashed themselves to the ships already landed, boarding planks and rope-walks moving men, mounts, and supplies to the shore.

General Lyliyarel Highlock and his staff moved here and there, supervising the layout of the Dominion camp. The members of his staff did their best to hide their disgust at the sight of Bretons, Redguards, and Orcs moving through their camp. Red-eyed _vamphirs_ and the tell-tale silver crescents of _vargulfs_ were scattered throughout the _heretai_ ranks, along with black-robed necromancers and less-than-savory types. Even more infuriating were the Covenant soldiers openly sporting amulets and totems of their chosen Daedric deity or cult. Broad-chested Nords made a point to wear their emblems of Talos openly as well, daring any Dominion soldier to challenge them.

 _"Remember our orders_ ," he hissed under his breath for the thousandth time since their setting sail from Firsthold Harbor, in the Summerset Isle. This opportunity for an alliance against the Empire had been deemed too good to pass up by the Elders of the Crystal Tower, who had ordered Lyliyarel to cooperate with the _heretai_ ("for the time being" were the key words in his sealed orders).

The party was now moving towards the large black tent on the top of the hill overlooking the crowded beach and the expansive field where the Northern Army of the Aldmeri Dominion was currently encamped. Here, wolf-men and _bear-men_ stood, openly and brazenly _woged_ in their beast-forms. But they stepped aside, holding open the door to the tent, where a massive table was set up, and the Thalmor got their first look at Tala Niwot of the Vodahmin.

The dark-skinned Redguard woman was clad from head to toe in shimmering black Daedric armor, which immediately set Lylilyarel's teeth on edge.

"Our proper course is clear," the armored Breton was saying. _Andorak Septim,_ Lyliyarel recognized. "We must move towards Whiterun, and break this…upstart… 'High King's' army."

"I disagree, my queen," countered a figure whom the general recognized from the intelligence scrolls as Icando Damn-rune, the queen's Dunmer steward. "Daggerfall and Camlorn must be brought to heel first, before any attempt eastward can be made."

"Daggerfall and Camlorn will make no move, for fear of the Corsair Fleet at Wayrest," a massive Orc in the corner rumbled.

 _'King' Burguk of Orsinium_.

The queen held up a hand, and turned her gaze towards the Dominion party.

 _Those eyes…they're…glowing._

"Welcome, General Highlock," the Queen murmured, and against his will, Lyliyarel could feel himself _relax_ slightly.

 _That's a Charm enchantment at work, and a powerful one at that,_ he thought to himself, but he managed a disarming smile and bowed _ever so slightly_ at the waist, a gesture he was glad to see that his staff emulated.

"What course of action would _you_ suggest?" the Queen asked, gesturing to the empty space at her side. The Altmer moved slowly around the table, taking in the sight of the map of Tamriel spread out before the party.

"General Tullius and the Legions here in the North will take time to assemble, once news of our landings reaches them," he mused quietly, nodding towards Solitude. "This… _Llewellyn Dragonborn_ will likewise wait to move the Nordic levies against us until the Legion is ready to move _alongside_ them, unless he is a greater fool than we took him for."

The Altmer pointed a finger towards the south of High Rock.

"I would concur with Lord Damn-rune," he stated, nodding towards the red-eyed Dunmer. "We have superiority in numbers, currently, and the added advantage of secure fortresses at Sungard and Hamugstalh. They can serve to slow and encumber any invading army while we secure _all_ of High Rock, and then move against them while they are beleaguered with attempting to besiege either or _both_ of the mountain fortresses."

"My queen!"

The shout caused the party to turn towards the tent's entrance, where a giant Nord was making his obedience.

"Skoberth?" the Queen answered.

"We have prisoners."

The party moved towards the tent's entrance, and the fabric entrance was rolled backwards to reveal a growing crowd jeering and cursing as two figures in the armor of the legion were thrown into the middle of the circle of tents, on their knees before the High Mother of the Vodahmin.

"Imperial Scouts," a woman stated, clad in the… _armor,_ if you could call it that, of the Bretons of the Reach.

 _It's mostly feathers and bits of dead animal_ , Lyliyarel thought contemptuously.

The Queen strode forwards, cutting quite a splendid figure in the obsidian-black armor, Lyliyarel was forced to admit.

"Congratulations, gentlemen," her silky voice _purred_. "You have successfully found the Vodahmin army."

Laughs of derision ran around the circle, and the younger legionnaire blanched white, while the older-looking one only ground his teeth.

 _Veteran_ , Lyliyarel wagered silently.

"Caught them up on the ridge above us," the Foresworn woman was continuing. "No doubt trying to count our numbers."

The Queen reached out and stroked the face of the young boy in front of her.

"Tell me, boy… how high did you get?"

The boy's eyes went wide as confusion crossed his face.

"How many enemies did you count?" the queen asked, without a trace of hostility in her tone.

The boy looked down in mixed shame and indecision.

"Eighteen thousand," he stated sullenly. "With an added six thousand Aldmeri."

The queen looked over at Lyliyarel.

"General?"

"Woefully inaccurate," The Altmer scoffed derisively. "It would seem these Imperials are as bad at counting as they are at running empires."

More laughter and jeers went around the circle, which caused a flare of anger in the younger boy's eyes.

"The Emperor… will stop you!" he shouted, attempting to rise to his feet. And getting the hilt of a sword to his back for his trouble.

"Quiet, _boy,_ " his apparently-wiser comrade hissed from beside him as the boy collapsed with a grunt of pain.

"To be honest, I'm glad you're here," the Queen chuckled along with her entourage. "I want you to witness this!"

She drew a dagger from the small of her back, an action that caused the Dominion soldiers present to take a step backwards in barely-concealed revulsion.

 _Mehrune's Razor,_ thought Lyliyarel, _An artifact of dark sorcery._

"I dedicate these deaths," the Queen stated, raising the dagger high, "To Boethiah."

Lyliyarel frowned.

"Boethiah?"

The Razor flashed, and General Highlock stumbled back, choking as a red line appeared at his throat. Hands went to the sword-hilts of his retinue, but they were surrounded by fang, claw and blade. The struggle was ludicrously short-lived.

Helmmir War-Raed, _woged_ in wolf-form, lifted his head to the setting sun, and let out a crooning howl that pierced the twilight.

* * *

"That's the signal," Orthjolf murmured with unfeigned glee, drawing the curved vampiric blade at his waist. "VOL-KI-HAR!"

As the screeching war-cry filled the surrounding woods, Gargoyles and Hell-Hounds came onto the beach at a run, tackling Aldmeri soldiers as they raced for their stacked weapons and the armor they had set aside to do the work of setting up camp.

Soldiers who only a few minutes before were sitting and laughing with their Northern comrades now suddenly found those allies with daggers in their hands and war-cries in their throats. Vampires clad in the black and scarlet armor of the Volkihar clan raced forward, their long lances and spiked shields skewering elves and cat-folk alike. Other figures, half-naked and emaciated, rushed forward in a frenzy, drinking hungrily from the still-warm corpses.

As fast as the drained bodies were cast aside, black-robed figures cast amethyst spell left and right, raising the fallen soldiers in sharp, jerky movements. The undead formed ranks, and then came on at a run, weapons brandished.

* * *

Nazir spun right and then left, his scimitars covering the small figure draining the life-blood from the quivering body at his feet. He whirled right again to find a Thalmor soldier crumpling to the ground, clutching at his throat.

"What fun! What FUN!" Cicero cackled, flicking his knives free of the blood-spatter. "We play in the sun! And there's murder to be done! And the little knife-ears run and run! AHAHAHAHA!"

" _Sithis,_ I hate jesters," muttered Nazir as the colorful figure danced madly and then set off skipping towards the sound of combat. "Still, suppose the idiot's useful in times like this…"

* * *

Hasdach Chard peered through the spyglass. In the growing darkness, the beach was becoming more and more illuminated, thanks to the burning tents and equipment. Not there was going to be a great need for any sailing maneuvers today: the Corsairs of Wayrest and the combined fleets of Shornhelm, Fharun, and Jehanna had the Aldmeri fleet bottled tight in the harbor.

There was no escape.

"Why does your queen insist on 'No Prisoners', Beira?" he asked. "There is no profit to be had in a massacre."

"There is for you," the woman beside him answered, tossing her red curls. "You're getting paid either way. And don't forget: there's the matter of looting the ships themselves, and whatever each of the bodies may have on them."

The Breton corsair threw his head back and laughed.

"That's what I love about you, my dear," he chuckled, "you always see the silver lining in any situation. That, and you have excellent tits."

A throwing dagger _whizzed_ by his left ear, but the smile on the Red Lady of Fharun belied its hostile intention.

"Give the signal, you old goat."

Hasdach made a ' _baa_ ' impression, but then nodded to the Dunmer by the mast. Two lanterns went up the flag-pole, and black sails were set into the attack position. Beira strode to the front of the ship, now bearing down on a luckless Altmer ship that was desperately trying to get their slaves to row backwards.

"We've a long night of killing ahead of us," the woman purred, drawing the scimitar in her left hand, and running the blade along her silver hook.

* * *

Back on the beach, two parties squared off with one another, both spattered from head to toe in Aldmeri blood.

"Lord Harkon?"

"Potema," purred the winged figure, pulling his wings back in to transform back into a more human form. "I can't tell you _how thrilled_ I was to receive your message."

"Spare me your honeyed-words, Harkon," Potema replied, holding up her hand. "We both know why you and your coven are here."

Skoberth Black-Song reached over his shoulder, drawing the Elder Scroll entrusted to him by his queen, and held it out. Vingalmo, at a wordless signal from his master, strode forwards and took the object gingerly into his hands.

"For the return of my property, I thank you," Harkon murmured, inclining his head to the Wolf-Queen. "Now… where is my _beloved_ family?"

* * *

"Keep running!"

The trio of figures moved through the underbrush.

"Any sign of any of the Pack following us?" Serana panted, her red eyes scanning to search the darkness around them.

Aela the Huntress _huffed,_ pulling herself up onto the rocky ledge.

"With the chance of blood and massacre on the beach below? Not bloody likely."

"What now?" Valerica asked, looking down at the now-distant beach, fully illuminated from tip to by burning tents and ships. Even from this far away, the scent of blood and death wafted into the nostrils of the three predators.

"We make for the Karthspire," Aela murmured, almost to herself. "To Sky Haven Temple. The Blades there will give us sanctuary. From there we move east, to rejoin the High King and his army."

"How can we know that _they_ won't just kill us in their turn?" Serana asked, her words sharp and bitter in her own mouth.

"You don't," Valerica admitted, "But your father is there on the beach, and we _know_ what our fate will be if we fall into his hands again."

"Something… something must have happened to Tala," Serana insisted. "She wouldn't… there is no way… she would never…"

"We haven't _seen_ Queen Tala… for some time," Aela reminded her as she offered a hand to help pull the two vampires onto the ledge beside her. "Whatever the situation, Potema Septim seems to in the ruler's seat now… and there is nothing the Wolf Queen of Solitude won't do for the sake of vengeance and victory."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **The Queen said "When our newfound allies arrive, we will sweep all before us." She never stated that those allies were the Aldmeri Dominion.**

 **Rock on, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

JimmyHall24 – I think they're gonna do just fine, also. But then again, I also said the same about Potema and Tala. ;)

Jubbito the Xeno, koseta.a – These chapters have been written for awhile, actually, I just haven't had the chance to post them. And I wanted to post them separately so it wouldn't seem like all these events were happening simultaneously.

Zeru'Xil, hopelessromantic34, griezz, rc48177, coduss, Guest, Lord Mortem– Awful nice of Lewis to put all this stuff in one place for us, wasn't it?

OnkelJo – Glad you're enjoying it. Dragonborn is a lot of fun, but I know exactly how you feel: that bit took me awhile as well.

METALHELLSPWN – Exactly. I don't want to abandon the arc of the wizards brought over by Potema, but I also don't want to 'break the story' by having four incredibly powerful wizards just running around, either.

EE-RAH!


	35. Chapter 35: The Storm Is Gathering

***RUINS OF BTHALFT*  
** **THE RIFT  
** **SKYRIM**

"Yes, this is much more covert than wearing my robes and mask."

Purple flames cast an otherworldly light around the skeletal figure of the horse as the robed figure dismounted. The robe of Ulfric Stormcloak was loose around Miraak's shoulders, but it staved off the cold breeze that whistled through the air.

 _Hey now,_ Tala insisted, _We could be any magician who learned how to summon a spectral horse. There is only one Miraak. We don't want to create THAT much attention to ourselves._

"Says the woman who had us trade away all of the Black Books of Hermaeus Mora, and _gave_ away the Black Blade of Mephala to the first vagrant we encountered."

 _What? I wasn't about to keep it, and have the bitch get somebody to stab us in the back for it, or cause us to stab a friend in the back._

"We don't have any friends."

 _That… is beside the point. Plus, this axe is much better._

The axe in question was a double-sided war-axe strapped to Miraak's back, bearing the image of twin snarling wolves.

" _'A cure for all illnesses that plague you_ _.'_ Clavicus Vile thinks he has a sense of humor," Miraak snorted, reading the Daedric runes on the handle of the weapon. He hefted the weapon in his hands, and swore softly. "In my weakened state, _I_ can barely lift the thing."

 _I can._

Miraak's eyes glowed green, and the axe _suddenly_ felt light as a feather in both hands.

"How…?" the Akaviri man murmured incredulously.

 _Blessings of the Steed Stone: apparently, I still have it._

Intriguing. How do you maintain the standing stones? I was under the impression they were designed to harness energy from Aetherius itself.

 _I… don't really know._

"Hmmm…" Miraak grunted, but said nothing further. "So: here we are. Now what happens?"

The eyes glowed green again, and Miraak felt _the Voice_ flow through him for the first time since he had returned to the realm of Tamriel.

"DUR. NEH. VIIR!"

Magicka blazed in a vivid purple circle in the clearing in front of the two figures. A skeletal figure, of ash and fire, took shape.

"Ahh," sighed the ancient dragon. "The free air of VUS… at long last."

"Durnehviir?!" Miraak exclaimed. For the first time in their acquaintance, Tala felt genuine shock, awe, and… _delight?_

"NII NIS KOS," Durnehviir's voice also seemed laced with disbelief and surprise. "MIRAAK? Is that you, WUTH FAHDON?"

"What remains of me," Miraak answered, the carefully-guarded tone and posture dropped completely. "What have they done to you, Old friend?"

"How can this be?" the ancient dragon wondered, "It has been…Ahh. MINDOK: I see. There is dark sorcery at work here. KREM DO LOK, _QAHNAARIN_."

 _"I give you greetings as well, Durnehviir_ ," Tala answered, Miraak's eyes flashing green. " _I must confess, I did not know you two knew each other."_

"We were the FIRST to resist the tyranny of ALDUIN, FIRSTBORN and BELOVED of AKATOSH," the undead dragon wheezed, something like fierce pride coming into his eyes, mingled with nostalgia. "We were GRAH-ZEYMAHZIN: allies, in this endeavor."

 _"You sought Alok-Dilon_ , _Necromancy,"_ Tala said slowly, " _And you sought…"_

"An alliance with Hermaeus Mora," Miraak answered bitterly. "It would seem that treachery was our fate, Old Friend."

"Hmmm, VAHZEN," Durnehviir nodded solemnly. "And yet, it would seem, our enemies were not as altogether victorious as they might wish."

" _I am sorry to cut this reunion short,"_ Tala interjected, truly against her own desires. " _But we have need of your aid, Durnehviir."_

Durnehviir drew himself up to his full and impressive height.

"My time on this plane is limited. But for the sake of this boon, for the sake of my GRAH-ZEYMAHZIN, I would give my life, if it were mine to give, QAHNAARIN."

 _"Can we have a ride?"_

* * *

 ***RORIKSTEAD*  
WHITERUN HOLD  
SKYRIM**

"And the last of the troops from House Redoran and the Skaal are pitching their tents on the western side of the camp," Lydia reported to her High King, setting a small wooden figure on the table in front of them.

"Who commands the House Redoran troops?" Llewellyn Dragonborn asked. "Captain Veleth?"

"No, my Lord," Lydia answered, "Our former guide, actually: Teldryn Sero. It would seem that Councilor Morvayn made him a tempting offer that he couldn't refuse."

The Dragonborn broke a wide grin

"Tell Teldryn to come by as soon as is expedient, Frea Dream-Strider as well."

Lydia's face grew grave for a moment.

"There is… another matter."

Llew raised an eyebrow.

"Which is?"

"There are several warriors from Thirsk Hall with the Skaal. Bujold the Intrepid is among them."

The Dragonborn furrowed his brow. The former leader of Thirsk Hall had been exiled from Solstheim because of _his_ testimony. And now, here she was, back among her countrymen. In _his_ army.

"Shall I have her come with the others?" Lydia asked. Lewis shook his head.

"Have her come later, if possible," He answered. "I would speak to her alone."

At that moment, Iona stepped into the tent.

"General Tullius, my liege."

Lewis waved a hand, and the older Imperial stepped into the High King of Skyrim's tent, making a short bow to his one-time subordinate. At his side was the figure of the ever-faithful Legate Rikke.

"General, what news?" Llewellyn asked.

"Gaius Moro sends tidings," Tullius answered excitedly, holding up a scroll. "The Argonians have begun their invasion of Elswyr."

"Truly?" Llewellyn asked, as the two housecarls set a map of Tamriel over that of Skyrim. "So soon?"

Gaius Moro and the rest of the Penitus Oculatus had accompanied their Emperor secretly on his wild ride back towards Imperial City. His double had returned to his ship, taking the long way around.

"Senchal is fallen, and Alabaster is under siege," Rikke confirmed.

"The Legion has moved almost simultaneously into Valenwood," Tullius answered. "Arenthia will soon fall. We've got _them_ on the defensive this time, by the gods!"

"Except for the army that the Dominion has landed here in the north," Llewellyn answered gravely, gesturing towards Markarth on the map. "With this… new Covenant that Tala Niwot has formed… we are all that stands in the way of a western invasion of Cyrodiil."

Tullius' eager excitement gave way to careful consideration.

"Then we hold them here," he nodded, looking over the deployment of their forces. "How many do we number now?"

"With the 9th and the 12th Legion's full force deployed, that's just shy of 8,000 legionnaires," Rikke rattled off, the endless reports still fresh in her memory. "80 cohorts."

"I have the levies of the eight holds still loyal to Skyrim mustered – almost another 8,000 men," Llewellyn Dragonborn answered. "The only problem is that only those of Whiterun or Eastmarch can be called something of 'veteran' soldiers."

"Almost all of Eastmarch housecarls are former Stormcloaks," Lydia added uneasily. "They will have kinsmen in the ranks of the _Vodahmin_."

"The rest of them are mostly city guards, or militia mustered out," the High King groaned. "Aside from Balgruuf's cavalry, the other holds haven't fought anything larger than a tavern brawl in the past ten years."

"All of their experienced fighters joined the Legion or the Stormcloaks when the Troubles broke out," Rikke nodded in somber agreement.

"I am bolstering their ranks with the Dawnguard and the Companions," the King continued, "but the hard fact remains: they're green and untested. They're not ready to face an undead vampire horde, lead by an undead Wolf Queen."

 **"DUR. NEH. VIIR!"**

The Shout was _faint_ , and in the din of the camp all around them, might have been missed altogether.

Unless of course, it fell on the ear of a Dragonborn.

Llewellyn Hereon _shot_ to his feet and _raced_ to the tent door.

"My King?" Lydia asked, but the King was already outside. Following him, the group blinked as their eyes readjusted to the harsh sunlight. The giant scarlet dragon next to the king's tent turned to face the group.

"GEH, DOVAHKIIN," Odahviing rumbled, "I heard it also."

"Where did it come from?" the Dragonborn asked quickly.

"JER," the former right hand of Alduin answered. "From the East, in your tongue."

"Go," Llewellyn ordered. "FIND me the source of the Shout, and report back to me."

"THAARN: I obey, DOVAHKIIN."

Odahviing beat his giant wings once, twice, and on the third achieved lift-off, rattling tents and camp equipment in all directions. Llewellyn watched him go, still scanning the horizon, as if the source of the sound was about to suddenly appear.

"It cannot be," his companions heard him mutter over and over. "He's dead. He's gone. It cannot be."

"Llew?"

The High King turned to find the Arch-Mage of Winterhold at his arm.

"Forgive me… _Your_ Majesty," Sarai Gellarus said insistently, "You'd better come quick."

"What is it?"

"The Blades are here."

Llewellyn breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank the Gods for that," he sighed. "Tell Esbern and Delphine to bivouac them on the eastern side of the camp. I will be with them shortly."

"You _WILL_ want to see who they brought with them," Sarah added in a tone Lewis recognized as her no-nonsense, no-bullshit voice. "NOW."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Doing my best to get these set-up chapters out of the way so we can get to the parts I know we're all excited and waiting for.  
Some more back-story on Miraak, and we get to see not one, but TWO dragon companions. **

**All thoughts/comments/ideas/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome at my table!**

 **ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **\- Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

CorpulentCatfish – Not so much these days. The Muses are erratic in their blessings.

rc48177 – All kinds of fun highjinks. *evil chuckle

METALHELLSPWN – Blind Fury would be a repeat of Potema's past history, wouldn't it, though?

Guest – "Let's get down to business… to defeat the Thalmor…"

FractiousDay – Indeed there will be. But Lewis has the honor having to try and COMMAND an army of religious zealots.

NotRevan – Here's two reactions: Joy and Panic.

wars apprentice – Thanks!

Guest – Well, here they are. And a little bit of chaos also thrown in the mix.

EE-RAH!


	36. Chapter 36: The Chantry

***CHANTRY OF AURI-EL*  
** **THE FORGOTTEN VALE  
** **HIGH ROCK**

 _"Pruzah wundunne, Miraak."_

The massive figure of Durnehviir faded away, slowly sinking back down into the snow-covered ground. Miraak brought a hand to his chest, bowing his head mournfully.

"My thanks, old friend. If there is a way to end your imprisonment, I shall strive to find it. I swear it."

 _We most certainly will, but let's focus on the situation at hand._

Miraak sighed deeply, and hefted his sword, testing the weight in his hand.

"My limbs have yet to remember their old strength," he stated softly. "If we can avoid a pitched battle with this Snow Elf you've told me of, it would be the best course of action.

 _That's why you have ME, Miraak,_ Tala answered cheekily. _I'll protect you from the mean Snow Elf, not to worry._

"What I _meant_ was," Miraak hissed, "that several of our goals align with his. There is no need for a battle unless he proves truly stubborn."

 _Of course._

The former Dragon Priest ducked his head low, entering the ice- and snow-covered temple that once was the Chantry of Akatosh, or Auri-El in the Ancient Falmer tongue. Scattered throughout the chamber were several frozen figures: the hunched, eyeless forms of the Falmer, and here and there the smooth, black figure of a frozen Chaurus could be seen.

 _Careful_ , _those frozen Falmer will –_

"I _was_ actually paying attention when we went over this," Miraak cut her off, and then drew a deep breath. "GOL! HAH! DOV!"

The wave of energy struck the frozen figures in the room, shattering their icy prisons and causing the whole room to shake. The frozen figures shook themselves free of the remnants of snow and ice, and then slowly crouched down silently as Miraak advanced, bowing low to the mysterious figure.

"Clever, little mortal. Clever."

Miraak spun towards the source of the voice, which was revealed to be a white-armored figure seated upon a throne of ice.

"Did you really come here expecting to claim the Bow of Auri-?"

"No, Arch-Curate Vyrthur, I did not."

The Ancient Snow Elf paused mid-monologue, clearly taken off-guard.

"So you know who I am…" he murmured. "Did my _pathetic_ excuse for a brother Gelebor send-"

 _"I am not here to claim the Bow of Auri-El for myself_ ," Tala cut him off again, forcing her way to the control of Miraak's form. " _I am here to ask you if you would have your revenge upon the one who betrayed you."_

If Vyrthur was startled by either the sight of Miraak's eyes glowing green, Tala's disembodied voice, or her knowledge of his past, he did not show it.

"Akatosh, or Auri-El, as you call him, betrayed us both," Miraak added. "I was defeated upon Solstheim all those centuries ago, because Akatosh would not aid me against His precious firstborn: Alduin. Just as He would not aid _YOU_ when the Fallen invaded His own Chantry."

 _"I know YOU wrote the prophecy of the Tyranny of the Sun_ ," Tala continued. _"I know you're a vampire. And I know that for the past few thousand years, you've been accumulating and freezing an army of vampiric Falmer, held under your sway and command._ "

"And who exactly _ARE_ you, to know these things?"

The thin frame straightened, and a strength came into its Voice, lending fire to the words and to the body speaking them.

"I am Dragon Priest of Akatosh.

I was named Guide of Allegiance to the _Dovah_.

I am the Highest, First, and True Dragonborn.

I am Miraak, _MUL_ of the _QAH_ of the _DIIV_!"

As the Ancient _dov_ words rolled off his tongue, the Dragon Aspect licked around the formerly unimpressive form, flickering and washing over Miraak like a warm blanket, or a favorite cloak.

"And I have come for my Vengeance."

Then the eyes flicked emerald green.

 _"And I am Tala Niwot, Queen of the Reach, Lady of the Forsworn, Keeper of the Mournful Throne, and High Mother of the Vodahmin. Knowledge-Daughter of Hermaeus Mora, Keeper of Knowledge and Scryer of the Tides of Fate."_

Vyrthur slowly sat forward, curling his figure tips together in thought.

"So… it comes about," he stated slowly, "Exactly as the Daedra foresaw… These are names that are not unknown, even in my long solitude on the far side of the world."

He looked past Miraak onto the balcony upon which they had landed with Durnehviir.

"Did you bring the Daughter of Coldharbour, then, that her blood may fulfill this prophecy?"

 _"Not with us,"_ Tala admitted. " _But we know where two of them are. Come with us: leave this prison of ice you have built for yourself, and take your vengeance upon this world. The Betrayed answer to you. You can move by secret ways, forgotten by even the eldest of all the other Races."_

Vyrthur cast his eyes upon the figure before him, and the red orbs narrowed.

"And why, _Queen Tala_ ," he hissed, "Should _more_ Falmer die, for the ambitions of a Human?"

 _"Because I can restore your people unto you."_

That prompted a visceral reaction from the ancient Snow Elf, and he leapt to his feet, his face inches away from the green glowing eyes.

"That. Is. Impossible," he hissed.

 _"NOT for the Lord of Secrets,"_ Tala answered unflinchingly. _"Not for the Keeper of Forbidden Knowledge."_

"You want your revenge, OLD MER?" Miraak sneered, seizing control from the woman from Wyoming. "Or will you skulk here for another few millennia, bemoaning the fact that the Gods are so High Above us?"

He strode forward, actually causing the Ancient Falmer to fall back a step, then another, and another.

"Will you sit here, in this wretched ruin, bemoaning the Fate Auri-El wrote for you upon the Stars of Aetherius, or will you SPIT IN THE FACE OF FATE, and seize control of your people's Destiny? TAKE CONTROL, VYRTHUR OF THE FALMER! TAKE YOUR REVENGE!"

With an inhuman snarl, Arch-Curate Vyrthur seemingly exploded in a red cloud of dark magic, blasting the human figure back off the raised dais.

"REVENGE?!" the snarl formed into words. "I'LL SHOW YOU REVENGE!"

Two large wings, crimson as the setting sun, sprouted from Falmer. The white-skinned figure twisted and contorted to take the form of the impossibly-ancient Vampiric Lord that he was.

"AEDRA!" Vyrthur cried again, "YOUR TIME HAS COME! GATHER UNTO ME, MY BRETHEN!"

And with that cry, more icy figures emerged from the very walls themselves: Twisted, Repulsive figures, shades of the Arch-Curate's race, clad in the shells of the black insects that they hunted, rode, and shepherded.

Miraak's startled surprise was ended as Tala retook her place, the eyes flashing green once again as her voice lifted above the screeches and cries of the fast-gathering crowd before her.

 _"You who were driven, now is the time to Drive!_

 _You who were betrayed, your hour of vengeance has come!_

 _You who were abandoned, let our enemies despair!_

 _You who were Vodahmin, who were forgotten, gather unto me!_

 _HEAR ME, YE AEDRA! To the last, I grapple with thee; From Oblivion's heart, I stab at thee; For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee!"_

Behind her, Vyrthur stretched out his arms and lifted them in a savage motion. Stones creaked and shifted, lifting the ancient copula from its hiding place. Just inside, floated the legendary weapon: The Bow of Auri-El, forged from Starlight itself against the forces of Lorkhan during the Ehlnofey Wars of the Dawn Era. Vyrthur stretched out his hand and seized the weapon, smoke arising from between his corrupted fingers. He lifted the weapon above his head, and the assembled Falmer went wild with screeches and the cries of their insectoid mounts.

"WE MARCH TO WAR!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I am not dead. There are times when raising an infant that it feels like it, but I am still here. It's not a long chapter, I know, but I want to thank you all for your patience. Aedra and Daedra willing, the chapters should come more regularly now.**

 **Another faction in this Great War enters, with more legendary leaders at their head. What comes next?**

 **Fire. Fire and Blood.**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Leblanc23 - I'm also hyped up for the battles ahead!

Guest, JimmyHall24 - The Dragonborn's meeting with Serana will be... interesting, to say the least.

NotRevan - It's not gonna be simple, that's for sure.

rc48177 - Yes, sad, isn't it? *evil chuckle* And in Real Life, there is no Rage Quitting.

InsidiousAgent - Well, we know she's absorbed the Steed Stone, the Lords Stone, and the Lovers Stone. As far as the rest of them go, it's gonna be fun!

jdboss1 - Well, on the one hand, Potema's moved from an army of "for now" allies into absolutely loyal undead reinforcements for her troops. And the troops she loses killing the Aldmeri forces... just get resurrected.

Guest, revantaylor - Nope, not dead.

gruntsbreeder - Thanks!


	37. Chapter 37: The Throat of the World

_"And the Scrolls have foretold_

 _of black wings in the cold,_

 _That when brothers wage war come unfurled!_

 _Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,_

 _With a hunger to swallow the world!"_

* * *

"Hello, BROTHER."

Lewis spun at the Voice, seeing a familiar figure reclined on the Throat of the World.

"No," he breathed. "NO. This is not possible."

Alduin stretched his obsidian wings lazily, yawning widely.

"You seem to think that denial of a problem is the same as defeating the problem, _Dovahkiin_."

Lewis' hand went to his side, but Dragonbane was not at his hip, and he was not wearing any armor.

"You are dead," he stated lamely.

Alduin's head whipped to face him, burning intensity in his black eyes.

"Come, come now," he hissed. "You and I both know that to be false."

One black wing stretched and the razor-sharp talon moved to point at Lewis' breast.

"I'm. Right. Here."

A rune appeared on the Dragonborn's chest, smoking and scorching the flesh beneath. Ripping off his shirt with a curse, Lewis scooped handfuls of snow against the red-hot letter. Even if Paarthurnax had not been teaching him Dovahzul, he could have suspected the meaning of the rune: _Kin Slayer._

"One does not consume the Soul of the World Eater without consequences," chuckled Alduin. "And your little witch did not even _dream_ of the possibility of anything happening different from her… _what was the word_ … VID-EE-Oh game?"

The Time-Curtain rent in twain, and suddenly Lewis could hear the voice of Felldir the Old: coming from all those eons ago:

 _"HOLD Alduin on the Wing, Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard!_

 _Be gone, world-Eater! By words with older bones than your own, we break your perch on this age and send you out._

 _You are banished, Alduin, we shout out from all our endings unto the last!"_

Then the vision faded, and Alduin's smiling face reappeared.

"I am the _World-Eater_ , brother. It is my destiny to consume this world, at the end of Time and Days. Did you think you were going to end me with a _sword_? Or that I was _JUST_ another _dovah_ to kill? _JUST_ another soul to consume?"

"I was destined to defeat you!" Llewellyn Dragonborn replied, feeling the fire in his blood. "The End is not today, _wyrm_! MUL QAH DIIV!"

Alduin looked unimpressed at the Dragonborn's defiance, even as the Dragon Aspect wound its magical flames around his form.

"As long as I live," Lewis continued, "Your soul is imprisoned within ME. And I will not die this day."

"It shall not be tomorrow, either, Little Brother," he shrugged. "With the souls of our brethren that you have consumed, you are destined to live _far_ beyond the allotted years of Man. But try as they might, no man lives forever."

The serpentine head moved in front of Lewis, and the grin now vanished.

"And on that day, my and our brothers' souls shall be freed!"

Lewis stood unphased, staring down the firstborn Son of Akatosh.

"It will still take you hundreds of years to regain your physical forms."

 _"Thousands_ , _Dovahkiin_ ," Alduin clarified. "But what is a few millennia to the Favorite Children of Akatosh? Know this, DRAGONGBORN: In the long run… you have failed. STRUN BAH QO!"

The Storm call shook the heavens, and lightening began streaking down around the two figures.

"THIS WORLD SHALL **_BURN_**."

Alduin lifted his head and sent a pillar of flame into the sky, and then looked back to Lewis, the smug grin returning.

"And I thank our Father that I shall see it all through _your eyes_. I will _feel_ your despair as you watch everything you have carefully built, guarded, and hoarded turn to ashes and dust between your fingers."

"ENOUGH!" Lewis called out, "Your words are empty as your soul, Tyrant."

"You call me Tyrant," Alduin mused, "And yet you accumulate power and riches, attempting to control the very winds and Tide of Time.

Alduin bent his head and fixed one dark eye upon Lewis.

"Perhaps you are a true _dovah,_ after all."

Lewis lifted a hand to summon a Spectral Blade, but instead saw a leathery wing instead. Horrified, he looked down to see his form burning away, skin and flesh replaced by hard scale. Hands turned to wings, and when Lewis opened his mouth to scream, a dragon's roar sounded instead.

"LEWIS!"

* * *

 ***RORICKSTEAD*  
WHITERUN HOLD  
SKYRIM**

Llewellyn Dragonborn shot awake, hand grasping for the blade by the bed. Hands caught at his wrist and for a moment there was a fierce struggle.

"Lewis!"

The voice and the sight of Sarai Gellarus, Arch-Mage of Winterhold, slowly brought him back to the present. It was only then that he noticed the drawn Blade of Woe held against her throat.

"I'm… sorry," he stammered quickly dropping the blade onto the floor. "I'm… sorry."

"It's OK, love," she murmured, holding him close. "I'm here… I'm here."

Strong, weathered, scarred arms wrapped around her, and the High King of Skyrim buried his head between her breasts.

"I've got you," Sarah murmured again. "Shhh… my love."

"Alduin again," Lewis sighed. "Taunting me with more deaths."

"They're just _vision_ s _,_ dearest," she replied quickly, cupping his head in her hands. "They. Are. Not. Real."

"I can't do this, Sarah," the boy from Texas half-sobbed, "I'm… so... tired... I never wanted to be a hero. I _can't be_ what they need me to be."

"Shhh… shhh…" Sarah soothed, pulling him down onto the furs next to her. "You don't need to be anyone else, darling. Just be with me, right now. Be with me…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **More deviations and more secrets from Team "Preserve the Timeline."**

 **I am writing and editing the upcoming showdown, but I thought I'd rather post this short tidbit to keep my promise of regular updates.**

 **As always, your thoughts /suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome in the review section below! I love hearing from you all, and those alerts make my day!**

 **ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

METALHELLSPWN, shadow wolf 501, jdboss1, artembesmiley, Guest – There will be blood. There will be sacrifices… and surprises.

JimmyHall24, Not Revan, Inuyoukai52 – I have plans for Tala x Serana, not to worry. *chuckles.

rc48177 – And Slaanesh is also chuckling, I have no doubt.

Guest – I try to keep my Necromancy to an absolute minimum as a parent.

NotRevan – Thanks! I got tired of all the stories having a LawfulGood Dragonborn "The One Who Can Do No Wrong." I read those stories and just thought, 'Jeez, that'd be annoying after twenty minutes.' And thus the characters of Lewis and Sarah came into being, and the character of Tala was created as a third-party platform to watch them.

Nelkis – Glad I could be there for you! Best of luck with State Testing!

HonorLove – Welcome on board! Hope you'll keep reading and reviewing!

EE-RAH!


	38. Chapter 38: Reclamation

_Darling Lewis,_

 _We have two massive armies squaring off with one another. There is no reason for so many to die._

 _I will be at Lund's Hut, on the outskirts of Rorikstead, tomorrow at sundown._

 _You know who will be there, and you know who to bring._

 _Potema Septim_

 _Queen of the Mournful Throne_

 _Mother of the Vodahmin_

 _Rightful Empress of the Ruby Throne_

* * *

 ***IMPERIAL ARMY CAMP*  
RORIKSTEAD  
WHITERUN HOLD  
** **SKYRIM**

"You can't be serious."

Sarai Gellarus set down the scrap of parchment, staring incredulously at Llewellyn Hereon, High King of Skyrim.

"Can you think of a better way to end this war in one fell swoop?" he grinned, leaning forward.  
"Best case scenario: we banish Potema back to the Soul Cairn, kill Harkon, and the _Vodahmin_ tear themselves apart in the aftermath. Worst case scenario: I get killed, and all of Skyrim goes to war under the leadership of General Tullius to avenge me."

"You're leaving out the part where you're dead, you idiot," Sarai hissed. "Do you think for a _moment_ that the Wolf Queen wants to actually _talk_? This is absolutely, no questions about it, one _million_ percent, a trap."

"Ahh, but you see, that's just it," Lewis countered, " _We_ have the advantage of _knowing_ that it's _going to be_ a trap, and we can be prepared."

"Only to get our asses handed to us because _she_ knew that _we_ knew it was a trap," Sarai quipped back. "She says 'sundown' right? That means vampires, and quite a few of them."

"We have two of those of our own, if you remember," Lewis continued. "And besides, sundown means more than just vampires."

"Like what?"

"Shadows," Lewis grinned.

* * *

 ***LUND'S HUT*  
OUTSIDE RORIKSTEAD**

"Well my, my, my… looks like the gang's all here."

The two parties squared off in the small field as the yellow sun began to sink beneath the western mountains. On the one side stood the Dragonborn, the Arch-Mage, along with three other figures: Isran, Serana, and Valerica. Isran glowered darkly at being on the same side as not one, but two elder vampires.

On the other side of the field stood Tala Niwot's body, with the blue eyes of Potema Septim blazing. Beside her stood the red-armored figure of Harkon, Lord of Volkihar. Off to one side stood Skoberth Black-Song and Movarth Piquine, with the wolf-form of Helmmir War-Raed standing beside them.

"What have you done with Tala?" Serana hissed, shoving herself forward.

"My dear daughter," Lord Harkon smiled, stepping forwards towards her.

"Father…"

Serana took an involuntary step back, and her mother pulled her back behind her.

"Harkon."

A look of unmasked fury crossed the Vampire Lord's expression for an instant, replaced with the placid smiling mask.

 _"Beloved,"_ he purred. "I… owe you much for keeping our daughter from me for _so long_ …"

Valerica met his gaze unflinchingly.

"I protected her from your madness."

"UNGRATEFUL BITCH! I'LL RIP YOUR – "

"I hate to interrupt a loving family reunion," Potema spoke, touching a shoulder to Harkon, "but we are here on other matters."

"You wanted us here to talk," nodded Lewis, "Now talk."

"It's simple, BOY," grinned the Wolf Queen, "Kneel and swear fealty to me as Empress of Cyrodiil, and I will let you live. I'll even let you keep that ridiculous crown if you really want it."

"And what claim do _you_ have on the Ruby Throne, Undead bitch?" scoffed Llewellyn Dragonborn.

Now it was Potema's turn to twist her face in raw fury.

"I HAVE THE ONLY CLAIM."

"You are nothing but a spirit in a stolen body," Sarai Gellarus stated, charging a spell in both hands. "And we will send you back to Oblivion where you belong."

Potema grinned like the wolf of her name, and placed a hand on her chest, undoing a button to reveal _just a little more_ cleavage.

"Even if that means _killing_ this body, little Sarah?"

"For the sake of Tamriel and the future of Nirn?" Sarai Gellarus scowled, but there was a sorrow in her eyes. "Yes."

"You see, Serana?" Potema crooned, turning back to the vampiress. "They care _nothing_ about anyone other than themselves. Come back to us and leave these fools to their own devices."

Valerica held out a hand, but Serana gently pushed it aside as she stepped towards the Wolf Queen.

"Your Majesty," she asked, casting her eyes at the ground. "Where is Tala?"

"She is gone, little one," Potema stated gently, reaching out a hand to stroke Serana's cheek. "There is only ME now."

Serana looked up, and her eyes blazed scarlet fire. Both of her fist came up, striking Potema Septim squarely in the chest, knocking her back to land on her back in a _very_ unqueenly fashion.

"I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT, WOLF-BITCH!"

"Serana, no!" came the shout from the other members of the party. Isran on the other hand, merely unshouldered his war-hammer from his back.

"That didn't take long," he mumbled, before coming on at a run.

Twin blades appeared in Serana's hands, and she leapt towards the still-prostrate figure of the Queen, only to be tackled by the red-armored figure of her father. The Arch Mage fired off a spell, and the ghostly figure of a Sabre-cat appeared beside her.

"Get away from her, you MONSTER!" Valerica hissed, and with matching roars, two winged figures locked fang and claw in combat above their daughter.

Dark figures could now be seen running through the tall grass towards the combat field. Suddenly, more figures arose from their hiding places, locking blades with the incoming figures.

Llewellyn drew Dawnbreaker and drove to strike at Harkon's back, only for two wings to lash out, knocking the High King of Skyrim back onto his ass. Winded, he rolled up to a kneeling position, looking up at a figure in Nightingale armor beside him.

"Get up lad," Brynjolf grinned. "This is no time to take a nap."

Arrows began to ply from the shadows, and Helmmir roared in pain.

"Karliah is having all the fun without us," Brynjolf smiled, offering a hand to the Dragonborn, pulling him to his feet.

The leader of the Queen's Pack came at Sarai Gellarus at a run, but before the Arch-Mage could fire off a spell, another wolf came through the tall grass, tackling Helmmir around the waist and throwing him back.

"Well struck, Aela!" crowed Farkas, pulling his axe out of a Volkihar vampire.

"We are with you, sister!" Vilkas grunted.

Potema Septim looked around at the combat ensuing all around her, and extended the Rose of sanguine to its full length, sending out an orb, from which sprang the fully-armed figure of Teryn'garwch, drawing his Daedric Greatsword and leaping to engage the High King of Skyrim in combat yet again.

She grinned at the dremora's shout of unadulterated pleasure, then turned to find the Arch-Mage of Winterhold calmly walking towards her.

"Potema Septim," she said in a low, even voice. "Time to put an end to this madness."

The Wolf Queen only smiled and then stepped back and launched a Fireball towards the Arch-Mage.

"An End?" she crowed, "Foolish girl, why in all the Planes of Oblivion would I want ALL THIS FUN TO END?"

But before Sarai could finish charging her own counter-spell, the earth beneath them began to rumble and shake, knocking many of the combatants off their feet.

"What trickery is this?" Both women asked in unison, then tensed as they realized this was _not_ part of _either_ of their plans.

In the field behind them, a group of charging vampires suddenly found the ground beneath them collapsing, vanishing into the sinkhole that had suddenly appeared beneath their feet. From the opening, Falmer poured out in droves, led by a figure on a spectral horse.

"NO," breathed Potema Septim. "Impossible…"

Another figure appeared, this one astride an antlered Vale deer.

"Arise, Falmer!" he called, holding a glowing bow high, "Strike with me, Brethren!"

"Gods," gasped Sarai Gellarus, "That weapon…"

"MINE," Harkon snarled, disengaging from his struggle with his wife, and throwing himself towards the white-armored figure. "With ME, VOLKIHAR! BRING. ME. THAT. BOW!"

The mounted figure seemed to scoff, and then launched himself into the air, firing left, right and left again, each arrow turning the nearest attacking vampires into dust. A glowing arrow lashed out, striking the Volkihar lord in the shoulder, causing the Vampire Lord to screech at the pain.

"You DARE!?" he roared. "You DARE keep me from my destiny!?"

"Harkon…" Vyrthur sighed. "I was a servant of Molag Bol _long before your grandsires_ were even born. I _wrote_ that Elder Scroll you bear. Do not speak to me of Destiny."

The spectral steed disappearing into the ground beneath them, a robed and hooded figure threw itself between Sarai and Potema, throwing up a Ward Wall to defend against an icy blast from the Wolf Queen.

 _"Hello, Buffy."_

The figure was masked, but that voice still caused the Arch-Mage to do a double-take.

"T-T-Tala? Wh-what the…"

 _"Disembodied spirit, no time to explain: Keep the bitch distracted,"_ the masked figure spoke. _"And TRY not to damage my body too badly!"_

Tala dropped the ward, rolling forward to cross swords with the Mace of Molag Bal and the Rose Potema wielded. The Wolf Queen took a deep breath:

 _"FUS RO DAH!"_

Tala's… other body was blasted back, landing beside the Arch-Mage, who had erected a defensive barrier against the power of the Voice.

 _"Ok… new plan,"_ Tala's voice groaned. _"I'm going to need as much magicka energy as you can give me."_

"Tala…" Sarai hesitated, "They don't call me Arch-Mage ironically: you won't be able to handle that much power."

 _"Neither will she,"_ Tala stood to her feet, and then a _man_ 's voice spoke:

" _WULD NAH KEST!"_

* * *

"Form a square!" called Delphine, drawing her round shield from her back. "Protect the King, but do _not_ engage the Wolf Queen."

"On your word, Commander!" Derkeethus Dark-Water screeched. He and Eric the Slayer locked shields with the massive figure of Uthgerd the Unbroken. Just behind them, Marcurio of Riften charged a Lightning Spell, casting the energy forward to act like a shield as the Blades regrouped.

 _Our oath prevents us from fighting you directly_ , _Wolf Queen_ , the Blade thought grimly as she cut down a vampire appearing out of the growing darkness. _But that doesn't mean we can't fight your minions…._

"Strike as one!" She called aloud. "Advance!"

* * *

"Jarl?" Lydia questioned, astride her steed, looking down at the combat below. "Who do we attack?"

Balgruuf looked down at the hordes of Falmer pouring out of the ground, coming at both groups at a run.

"Lydia," he said finally, making a tactical decision. "Lead your _ala_ right: cut off the Falmer from the King's party. Irileth, follow my banner down the center. We will relieve the pressure on the Blades."

The Jarl of Whiterun's housecarl drew her helmet down over her face, and gripped her lance.

"With you, my jarl."

Balgruuf drew his sword, and gestured at the ranks of horsemen behind him.

"Charge! For Sovngarde!"

* * *

"Icando?" Lady Kaie breathed, looking down at the chaos below. "This was _not_ in the plan…"

"No," nodded the Hand of the Queen, "Hordes of Falmer coming out the ground was _not_ in any of our contingency plans, I must admit."

"What do we do?" the Foresworn woman asked.

"Order the ranks forward," Icando stated after a moment's hesitation. "The Falmer are attacking the Nords and the Queen's party both. We will make no move against the Nords until ordered to do so by the Queen. Move against the Falmer, and keep them from reaching the Queen."

"As the Hand commands," Borkul the Beast nodded, the massive orc lifting his warhammer. "VODAHMIN!"

Ranks of pikemen came to attention, supported by crossbowmen behind.

"FORWARD!"

* * *

 _"HUN KAAL ZOOR!"_

Llewellyn stepped back from the massive pillar of light that descended from Sovngarde, smiling at the figure stepping from the portal.

"Hail, Dragonborn!" the spectral figure of Gormlaith Golden-Hilt laughed. "A glorious battle indeed!"

"So it is," Llewellyn grinned. "Shall we get star…"

 _"DUR NEH VIIR!"_

The Dragonborn and Ancient Hero spun towards the source of the Shout, seeing the figure of a massive Undead Dragon arise from the very ground itself. Gormlaith threw her head back and laughed.

"I always wanted to fight _HIM_! DURNEHVIIR!" she bellowed out in challenge, "FACE ME, you undead Wyrm!"

The two charged forward, cutting their way through rabid Falmer.

Potema grunted, holding up the Ward against the UNNATURAL amount of magical energy Sarai channeled towards the Wolf-Queen. Even with Spellbreaker in hand and the blessings of the Lord's Stone on Tala's body, Potema found herself hard-pressed to withstand the sheer _amount_ of magicka being hurled her direction.

" _How_ in all the Daedra's names…" she whispered, and then suddenly felt an iron fist close around her shoulder.

"Potema Septim," Tala's green eyes flashed, through an unfamiliar face. "I BANISH YOU BACK to whence you came."

Potema's eyes went wide in wild panic.

"Tala."

The Ward collapsed, and the wave of magicka struck both figures full-on. Tala's host figure _pulled_ , and the spectral figure of the Wolf Queen suddenly was _pulled_ from the chest of Tala's body.

 ** _"_** **TALA!"** Potema screeched, raw panic in her voice. **"WAIT! Don't do this! I'm SORRY! I'm sorry… We can still work together, darling! WE CAN HAVE EVERYTHING! WE can STILL…"**

The spectral figure suddenly was seized between the jaws of Durnehviir, her words cut off in an unearthly scream as dragon and body disappeared back beneath the ground.

Sarai ended her spell just in time to see _another_ ghostly figure exit the masked warrior's body and enter the figure of Tala Niwot. She ran over, vaguely aware of another figure joining her, kneeling beside Tala's body, even in the midst of the _melee_ around them.

"Tala?!" Serana whispered, and green eyes fluttered open to meet her crimson ones. "Is that…"

Tala reached up and pulled Serana to her, locking her lips in a passionate kiss. Serana's eyes went wide, and then closed as she leaned into the embrace and kiss.

"Um… I'm going to take that as a 'Yes,'" Sarai stated, clearly _very_ uncomfortable at the public display of affection. "But the real question is: What now?"

Tala ended the kiss with Serana, both women panting breathlessly, and then turned to the Arch-Mage.

"Now we prevent a war," Tala answered.

"Sounds like a plan," Serana nodded, "What's the first step?"

"I'm on it," Tala said, slowly getting to her feet, and hefting the Mace of Molag Bal in her hand. "Gods, it's good to back in my own body."

She turned to the masked and hooded figure in whom she had hitched a ride.

"You know what to do."

The figure nodded wordlessly, and then sprinted left, just as Tala went right, followed by Serana and Sarai.

Harkon and Vyrthur were still locked in a desperate struggle, both grappling for the unearthly bow in the Snow Elf's grasp. Suddenly, two wings sprouted from Vyrthur's back, driving up and under the sternum of the Lord of Volkihar. Harkon gasped in pain, and then the Snow Elf sank his fangs into his neck.

"My…. Destiny…" moaned the Lord of Vokihar. Just then, Isran charged a Stendarr's Aura spell between his hands, channeling the energy into his enchanted warhammer.

"Stendarr, grant me aid," the human breathed, and then struck with all his might at the wounded Vampire Lord. The figure of Harkon crumbled to ash and dust. Vyrthur stepped back, squaring off with the Dawnguard commander. The Bow of Auri-El gleamed menacingly in his hand.

"Mortal," he scoffed. "Do you _really_ think you can stand against me?"

"Don't need to," Isran grunted. " _He'll_ do that just fine."

A look of puzzlement crossed the Snow Elf's Face, and then suddenly it twisted in pain as a blade sprouted from his chest. Miraak stepped back, leaving the spectral blade in place as the Snow Elf stumbled to his knee, looking up at the figure standing before him.

"You… treacherous…. Bitch," he hissed, as black blood bubbled between his lips.

"You have done well, Vyrthur of the Falmer," Tala breathed. "I thank you, and your people."

The Mace of Molag Bal twitched in her hand.

"But your Soul belongs to Molag Bal, and He has come to claim His debt."

The Mace swung once, twice, three times, each time cracking bone and shattering limbs beneath.

"Auri-El," came the hoarse whisper as the Mace raised again, "Forgive me…"

It descended again, and rose no more.

The Falmer surrounding the glen and locked in combat with the various figures suddenly stumbled, and then looked around, as if realizing where they were for the first time. In that moment, ranks of horsemen came over the hill, riding down the subterranean creatures and their Chaurus mounts. Most turned and fled, only to run headlong into ranks of pikemen, and deadly crossbow bolts _twanged,_ sending barbed death forward. Few indeed made it back to the tunnel from which they had appeared.

"REGROUP!" Llewellyn Dragonborn called out, pulling Dragonbane out of a Falmer Shaman.

"TO ME, VOLKIHAR!" Valerica called out, yanking a dagger out of the neck of Orthjolf and stepping over the smoking corpse of Vingalmo. "BY RIGHT OF BLADE AND BLOOD, I CLAIM YOUR ALLEGIANCE! RALLY TO ME!"

The various undead creatures paused in their struggles, breaking off to gather in ordered ranks before their new Mistress. Taking advantage of the respite, the Dawnguard, Blades, and Companions sprinted towards the High King, spells and weapons prepped. In the distance, Balgruuf drew up the ranks of horsemen just out of bow-shot of the ordered ranks of Vodahmin pikes. For a single, dreadful moment, the two armies squared off, waiting only for the word of their rulers to reengage.

"HOLD!"

Tala Niwot's voice, her _actual_ voice, rose in startling clarity over the ruined field. Llewellyn looked over to see his lover standing _beside_ Tala, and lowered Dragonbane slowly.

"High King," Tala stated in a respectful tone, replacing the Mace and the shortened Rose of Sanguine in their places on her belt.

"Queen _Tala_ ," Lewis stated in greeting, replacing both of his swords in their scabbards as well.

There was a moment of awkward silence as the two Travlers stood facing one another.

"Well," Tala said finally, "Shall we have that talk?"

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER***

King Llewellyn, General Tullius, Arch-Mage Sarai, and Jarl Balgruuf all sat down in the small tent that had been pitched between the two armies. Sitting opposite them were Queen Tala, Lady Valerica, Icando Damn-Rune, and King Anorak Septim. While several more of rank awaited outside, the tent wasn't large enough to accommodate all of them.

"In answer to your question general, "Tala stated slowly, "Potema Septim… has been returned to the afterlife."

She cast a wary glance to the other faces at her table.

" _I…_ am the sole commander of the _Vodahmin_ now."

The three Daggerfall Covenant figures shared a look, and then nodded. Tala blinked slowly, trying not to show _open_ relief: Technically speaking, Icando and the rest of the vampires had sworn allegiance to _Potema_ Septim, and Anorak had come to the aid of this (long-dead) kin. In a single gesture, they had acknowledged that they would continue to follow and support Tala Niwot, with or without her royal cohabiter.

"The Daggerfall Covenant will fight alongside the Empire," Tala continued, "but we will not bend the knee to Titus Mede, or any other who sits upon the Ruby Throne."

"And we're supposed to just… _trust_ that you won't use this army against us once we march south?" Tullius stated skeptically.

"Well, for one thing, General," Tala answered. "We won't _be_ here when you march south. We have a long voyage ahead of us."

Llewellyn arched an eyebrow, as did the rest of the Imperial contingent.

"To _where_?"

Tala nodded to Icando, who waved his hands in a complicated spell. A glowing map of Tamriel spread out in the space between the two tables, shifting to focus on a particular set of islands.

"As you so wisely said, Arch-Mage," Tala continued. "I have an army of vampires and undead that need to feed on living blood. Keeping them in High Rock is not an option, and equally distasteful to me is the thought of unleashing them on Skyrim and the North. So…" she gestured to the map.

"You're… you're…" stammered Sarai Gellarus, "Invading the Summerset Isles?"

"I have the combined fleets of High Rock, Hammerfell, the Corsairs of Wayrest, and a captured Aldmeri Fleet at my disposal," Tala continued. "That should prove sufficient to bear this army across the Abecean Sea. The Thalmor are busy dispatching armies to Valenwood and Elswyr to counter the Imperial and Argonian invasions of those regions. They will believe their home islands safe."

Anorak Septim chuckled. "They will be proven wrong."

"And after?"

Icando raised an eyebrow at the Arch-Mage.

"Let us follow this train of thought," Sarai Gellarus gestured to the map. "You take the Summerset Isles. General Tullius and the Imperials take Valenwood, and Elswyr crumbles with them. What happens after?"

"We take three or four generations' worth of Altmer chattel," Lady Valerica spoke up. "Altmer are not like humans, Arch-Mage. Properly tended to, Altmer blood-chattel can serve to supply the vampires of the _Vodahmin_ with _hundreds_ of years' worth of blood. The innocents of High Rock and Skyrim will be quite safe."

"You're asking us… to _allow_ you to enslave generations of Altmer…" Llewellyn said slowly.

"Otherwise, we would just _kill them_ ," Tala shrugged. "And that would be a waste for _everyone_." Isran and the rest of his hypocrites don't _really_ care about vampires, if they keep from preying on the innocents."

"The Bow of Auri-El," Sarai cut in. "What do you intend on doing _with it_?"

Tala turned to the Lady Valerica, who unstrung the magical weapon from her back and handed it to her Queen. Tala turned and tossed the glowing bow the length of the tent, the High King catching the weapon deftly.

"Just like that?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Just like that," Tala answered. "If any vampire crosses the line and breaks the Code of the _Vodahmin_ , you also have the power to end them."

"The alternatives, High King, are fighting a battle here and now, wasting _thousands_ of lives," Icando stated tactfully. "Or allowing us to sail against your enemies. If we fail, then your vampire problem is solved, and your enemies are weakened. If we succeed, then your vampire problem is solved, and your enemies are utterly destroyed."

"I'm sold," Tullius stated, looking over at the rest of the table. "I'm no politician, _Your Majesties_. I'm a simple soldier. This is a prime solution to all of our problems _today_. As to the future of this… Daggerfall Covenant and the Empire, those are problems for the future, and will be addressed in the future. After all," he nodded respectfully towards the other table, "I think it was the High King who once told this old man: In the long run…we are all dead."

The tent shared a chuckle, and then Llewellyn Dragonborn stood to his feet, the rest of the tent following his example. He stared for a long time at the Bow of Auri-El, feeling the weight in his hands, testing the tension of the magical bowstring, before laying it down on the table in front of the Arch-Mage.

"I am not High King of Summerset Isle," he said slowly. "I am not the Emperor or ruler of Cyrodiil. I am High King of Skyrim, and I must act for _her_ highest good. And there is nothing to be gained in our two armies slaughtering one another here, today."

Very slowly, he walked around his table and stretched out a hand towards Tala Niwot.

"I would never have trusted the Wolf Queen to keep her word," he admitted. "But… let this be the first day of friendship between our two peoples… Tala Niwot."

Tala Niwot looked down at the hand, and then slowly took it in her own, gripped wrist to wrist in a warrior's salute.

"The Wolf Queen has been banished," she repeated. "There is no need for us to be enemies anymore."

Sarai Gellarus stood between the two figures, and a magical chain wound itself around the arms of both rulers.

"Llewellyn Dragonborn, High King of Skyrim," the Arch-Mage intoned. "Will you swear, as far as it rests with you, to rule in peace with the Daggerfall Covenant, before the gods that Are, that Were, and Are To Be?"

"I swear," the High King swore. "As far as it rests with me."

"Tala Niwot, Queen of Markarth and the _Vodahmin_ ," she continued, ""Will you swear, as far as it rests with you, to rule in peace with the Empire of Cyrodiil, before the gods that Are, that Were, and Are To Be?"

"I swear," Tala nodded. "As far as it rests with me."

"So witness Earth, so witness Sky," the Arch Mage chanted, locking the oath into a powerful spell. "If this oath be broken, the one who breaks faith, may the Sky fall upon thee, may the Sea drown thee, may the Earth rise up and swallow thee whole."

The magical chain faded, and the two rulers released their grip as the rest of the tent's occupants nodded solemnly in witness to the oath.

"Leave us," Llewellyn said after another moment. "I would speak to the High Mother alone."

Tala shared a nod with her entourage, who left the tent and began sharing the results of the negotiations with those who had been waiting outside, an example which the Imperials also followed. Sarai Gellarus lifted an eyebrow to Lewis meaningfully before taking the Bow of Auri-El with her as she left. Once they were alone, Lewis Heron turned to Tala Niwot with a sheepish grin.

"I… may have been hasty," he managed, "in condemning you for changing the timeline."

Tala Niwot of Wyoming cocked her head to the side with a sly grin.

"Is that an apology?" she teased. "From the High King of Skyrim? The Dragonborn Hero himself, himself?"

"It is me saying that recent events have influenced my perspective," Lewis replied with a pained expression.

"Like becoming High King?" Tala continued to tease, and then her own face fell. "And on the subject of apologies… You… _may have_ been right… about trusting the Wolf Queen."

Lewis groaned.

 _"Gods_ , that was even worse that my apology," he chuckled.

"Aha!" Tala crowed. "So you _admit_ it was an apology!"

"Alright, alright, I'm SORRY," Lewis chuckled, throwing up his hands in defeat, and then furrowing his brows. "So… how _did_ you escape Potema's trap? Who _was_ that who you… um…"

"Rode back to my body?" Tala offered, and then shrugged. "Nobody special. In fact… I kinda _hijacked_ his body. Very much against his will. Not my brightest moment."

"Well," Lewis said after a moment, "We do what we have to, in order to survive. Can't blame you for that. Durnehviir _was_ a surprise, though."

"It's the only Shout I can do," Tala admitted, "I defeated him when we were rescuing Valerica from the Soul Cairn."

"Well, Tala," Lewis said after a moment. "This is awkward, isn't it?"

"I think it's going to be for a long time," Tala grinned back. "Will… will you be going with General Tullius, when they march south?"

"Just the Blades and myself," Lewis answered, glad to for an easier subject of conversation. "Maybe a 'Volunteer Company' or something of the sort as well. The bulk of the Nords will want to stay here, with their homes, and farms, and families. They're not up for a prolonged campaign in faraway lands."

"How very practical of them," Tala stated approvingly. "Well, I suppose it's back to ruling with us. I know _I_ have quite a bit to catch up on for these past few weeks, and a campaign to plan."

"Of course," Lewis answered hurriedly. "I…. I wish you good fortune in the war to come, Lady Tala."

"Game of Thrones? Seriously?" Tala laughed. "Honestly, Lewis, come up with your own stuff."

"I'll see what I can do," Lewis Heron called back as he left the tent.

Alone at last, Tala spun back toward the corner, waving a hand to extinguish all the torches and candles in the room.

"Are you there?" she whispered in a low voice. "Are you alright?"

With a sudden _rush_ , the eyes shifted from green to ice-blue.

" **Oh TALA,"** Potema said, her grin spreading across Tala's face. **"I'D SAY THAT OUR LITTLE PLAN WORKED…** ** _PERFECTLY_** **."**

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **In the words of the Immortal Jeff Goldblum, "Well there it is…"**

 **Please leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the reviews below! They are the fuel that keep this forest fire of a story moving forward!**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Not Revan – Right now I have no plans for them to return to our world… but that's certainly an idea.

rc48177 - ;)

JimmyHall24 – The chuckle, explained.

SIDoragon, Guest – AND THE PLOT THICKENS MOAR…

coduss, Tech Warrior Ender – Hey, it's hard being the Perfect Lawful Good all the time… have a heart (SARCASM drips off phrase).

Guest, FallingTurtle – Glad you could join us! Hope you'll stick around and comment on what you see!

Linkan201 – Nope. Have no idea what you're talking about. LOL I loved that game.

confused – I will often post little short chapters in-between the longer ones, just to let everyone know that the story is not dead. I am not the fastest writer, but I want to have a way of letting the readers/reviewers know I appreciate them. The mini-chapters are my way of doing that.

EE-RAH!


	39. Chapter 39: Councils of War

***THE DRAGON KEEP*  
HELGEN  
SKYRIM**

The fortress overlooking the walled town of Helgen was quickly becoming a marvel in and of itself, far outpacing the simple keep that had been there previously. While the towers and inner rooms were still under construction, the inner courtyard had been completed. It was this courtyard that was now _very_ crowded:

Delphine, Esbern, and the Blades stood guard on the outer edges of the courtyard, keeping a watchful eye on the occupants below.

Farkas, Vilkas, and the Companions of Ysgramor stood together, in various conversations with Isran, Tolan, and the Dawnguard, who had also gathered in full. Also present were Sarai Gellarus, and several of the principle mages of the College of Winterhold.

"HAIL, LLEWELLYN, KING!"

Lydia's shout brought an abrupt end to all conversation, all eyes turning towards the figure entering the courtyard. Bows, salutes, and shouted salutations greeted the High King of Skyrim as he made his way to the front of the crowd, where a small dais had been hastily constructed.

"My friends," he greeted, his voice rising to fill the courtyard and beyond. "I have gathered you all here together for one reason: to thank each and every one of you for answering my call."

The sharp eyes darted around the courtyard, nodding at a friend, saluting a comrade, all in unspoken expressions.

"We are here because now, like no other time before in history, we need protectors. And I do not speak of Imperial protectors, of empires, or kingdoms, or lands. I speak of the _people_ of Skyrim: the ordinary, everyday men, women, and children of this realm, without rank, wealth, or titles.

The Blades have sworn to defend Tamriel against the Dragons, and the threats they pose.

The Dawnguard live to combat the vampire threat that looms over us, now more than ever.

The College of Winterhold serves a barrier to the evil forces that threaten our world via the magical arts and the mystic realms.

The Companions of Ysgramor hunt the beasts and monsters of the realm, defending the common folk from giant, beast, and creature."

Solemn nods went around the courtyard at their king's words.

"I do not seek to end any of the organizations, or alter your missions and oaths," the High King clarified, "I seek to bring us together, under one banner, under one calling, uniting us in purpose: Defending the people."

"We are with you, my king!"

Farkas' shout broke the silence, but nods of agreement came from everyone present.

"From this day to our last day!"

"We stand with you, Sire!" Esbern stated, stepping forward. Llewellyn grinned at the old man and lifted his hands high.

"Then kneel, and swear this oath with me…"

As one, each of the warriors knelt drawing sword, hammer, axe, staff and all manner of weapons in-hand.

"Do you, Blades, Mages, Companions, and Dawnguard alike, swear to guard the helpless and protect the folk of the realm, rich or poor, Man, Mer, and Beast-men alike?"

"WE SWEAR," came the reply from all.

"Do you swear, with your metal, your honor, and your lives, to serve the people, beyond the authority or tyranny of any crown, any throne, or any rank?"

"WE SWEAR."

Dragonbane flashed from the scabbard, and Llewellyn Dragonborn held it above the assembled crowd.

"Then be without fear in the face of your enemies.

Be brave and upright, that the gods may love thee.

Speak the truth always, even if leads to your death.

Safeguard the helpless and do no wrong.

That is your oath.

Arise a member of the Order of the Dragon.

Rise a Knight!"

Cheers and salutes arose from the crowd as they arose. The doors opened, and servants entered the courtyard, carrying chests of cloth. Cloaks of gold were passed out to all present, as well as golden _torc_ s signifying their new ranks as Knights of the Order of the Dragon.

While the newly-made knights all tried on their new cloaks, the High King quietly strode into an inner chamber of the Castle, closing the door behind him.

"Not going to ask _us_ to join your little Order, then, lad?"

From the shadow of the empty-looking room, several figures _materialized_ , coming forward to sit down at the long table. Llewellyn grinned and took a seat of his own.

"Didn't think the offer would interest you," he stated. "Besides Brynjolf, gold isn't your color.

"Funny," the thief smiled. "I was beginning to think the office of Guild Master no longer interested _you_."

"Far from it," Llewellyn Hereon smiled. "You are my eyes and my ears. You are my hand where the High King of Skyrim cannot go. Now, a report: Delvin?"

"We still don't know who broke into the Vault," the rotund man admitted. "But we _have_ been able to track down several of the items that were stolen. Five of the seven black books have been found. Per your orders, we've delivered them to the Mage's college in Winterhold.

"The Arch Mage has agreed to pay _handsomely_ for them," the Guild Master murmured. "And they will be safer there anyway: under the close watch of the mages."

"The Left Eye of the Falmer was found by our Khajit contacts," Tonilia stated, the Redguard woman crossing her arms. "Ri'saad _swears_ that they found it literally lying in a ditch."

Brynjold scoffed, "Well, the crown of Barenziah was tracked down in Windhelm, along with Right Eye of the Falmer," he stated. "They were in the hold of a ship called the _Flying Skeever_ , bound for Cyrodiil."

"That matches what I've found," Karliah offered, "There is a rumor started in the border towns that the theft was perpetrated by the Grey Fox."

Grave looks came across the faces of the thieves, and their Guild Master.

"The robbery was a message then," Byrnjolf said slowly, "for turning down his offer of a merger with the Guild in Cyrodiil."

"I will NOT have us become the Skyrim branch of the Imperial Thieves' Guild," Llewellyn hissed. "Vex, Brynjolf.

The two thieves straightened in their chairs.

"You and Karliah take the newest recruits across the border as soon as you can. Take _everything_ that isn't nailed down. And if it is…"

"Take the nails," Brynjolf completed the old thief's joke. "It's a counter-message, then?"

"I want it _very_ clear from the Imperial City to the _fucking_ Black Marsh," Llewellyn continued through clenched teeth. "Don't _fuck_ with the Thieves Guild of Skyrim."

"Sure thing… boss."

"Now," Llewellyn continued. "What of the weapons? The masks? The armors?

Vex shook her head.

"No sign of them yet, boss."

"Most of the armors are my own personal trophies," the Dragonborn stated after clenching and unclenching his fists. "I _don't_ really care about them, beyond their sentimental value. But the Daedric weapons and the Dragon Priest masks are _dangerous_ , and need to be kept safe under lock and key."

"Understood," Delvin nodded. "It won't take long: items that rare? That valuable? Someone will try to fence them, and soon."

"If they don't _kill_ them first," Llewellyn stated grimly.

* * *

 ***THE UNDERSTONE KEEP*  
** **MARKARTH  
** **THE REACH**

The _Vodahmin_ Covenant Council gathered around the table in solemn contemplation. Gone were the gaudy robes and fancy tapestries of previous meetings. Now each of the Lords and Ladies were clad in the practical garb of war for the practical conversation of their alliance's future.

"The simple fact is," King Aelfric of Evermor stated, "is that we are essentially a Second Daggerfall Covenant, without Daggerfall. King Allaric still stands against us, declaring for the Empire, though Daggerfall and Camlorn is the only provinces in High Rock that still consider him _King_ of High Rock."

Jeering laughter went around the table.

"Yet he is a threat that cannot be ignored," Tala nodded, "King Burguk."

The King of the recently-reclaimed Orsinium straightened in his chair.

"You and the Orcs will stay, supported by Shornhelm, Evermore, Fharun, and Jehanna."

Burguk glanced at the other Breton rulers, who all nodded in acknowledgement.

"BRING them to the bargaining table and into the Covenant."

"The Empire won't consider that an invasion?" Burguk asked. "Or a violation of the truce?"

"To any and all emissaries, call it an 'internal Breton affair.'" Tala waved her hand dismissively. "Bury them in the minutia of the various blood-feuds you have with one another."

"What terms can we offer Allaric?" King Telstar of Jehanna asked. The boy was the youngest present, but he had already proven himself capable, and Tala acknowledged the wise question with a bow of respect.

"Allaric and his descendants may keep the rulership of Daggerfall," Tala answered. "But make no mistake: King Anorak Septim is the Warden of High Rock, answerable only to the authority of the _Vodahmin_ Covenant."

Anorak Septim inclined his head in gratitude, and Telstar nodded in agreement.

"The Corsairs, and the Aldmeri fleet are ready to sail," Icando stated. "We will be assembling at Stros M'Kai."

"I still say this is madness."

Angry murmurs followed the Red Lady of Fharun's statement, and a few figures stood to their feet, grasping the hilts of their weapons. Tala silenced them all with a lift of her hand.

"NO," she insisted. "let her speak: All are equals at this table, and deserve to voice their own opinions."

Vicereine Beira bowed, and continued in a more carefully-guarded tone of respect.

"The Sea Wall at Firsthold, Eyevea and Skywatch is of strong magic," she explained, pointing these areas out on the map carved into the table before them. "The Sea itself turns against you, and ships are dashed against it as if they were running against unseen reefs. Even if you were to take the entire Breton fleet with you, and that of Hammerfell, less than half of us would survive to reach the beaches of Firsthold or Lilliandril."

"Which is why we are not landing at Firsthold or Lillandril."

The Red Lady's face twisted in confusion at Tala's reply.

"Majesty?"

Tala stabbed the dagger into the table.

"We will sail west… to the other side of the Thrassian Reefs, and then turn south, bypassing their magical Sea Wall they place so much trust in."

Those on the opposite side of the table half-rose to see exactly _where_ Mehrune's Razor had landed in the table.

"Alinor?" Anorak stated in surprise. "You mean to attack the capital?"

"I mean to _burn it to the ground_. And from there strike at the heart of the Dominion. We will break their spirits there. We will sweep south, striking the cities of Sunhold and Dusk, and then turn north towards Shimmerene and Cloudrest."

Nods went around the table and eager eyes gleamed as they heard the plan.

"By that time, unless they are complete fools, the Aldmeri will be rallying for some kind of counterattack," Tala continued. "They will be pulling their forces from Firsthold, from Lillandril, and Karndar Watch. And that is when you will strike."

All eyes turned to General Kematu, who grinned and pointed at the island of Stros M'kai.

"The fleet of Hammerfell will sail two weeks later, and strike their northern defenses. Again, not for Firsthold," he stated.

"Why not strike at Valenwood as well?" Telstar asked. "Prevent them from bringing back reinforcements from the mainland?"

"I certainly hope that they _do_ attempt to do so," Tala explained gently. "Then the Wood Elves will see the Altmer as abandoning them to the invading Imperials, pulling back to save their own skins."

"They will resent the Thalmor when they see their true colors," Burguk nodded in realization.

"As I said, our blow will be to the _heart_ and _spirit_ of the Aldmeri Dominion," Tala stated, rapping her knuckles on the table, "And we shall strike such a blow, as they will not recover in a thousand years."

"Forgive me my queen?"

Tala turned to the figure on the far side of the table.

"Lady Valerica."

"The Volkihar clan stands ready to join you, as do the other covens," she stated, nodding at Icando, Nestor, and Movarth. "But if you insist on leading this expedition, who then will lead her at… at _home_?"

Tala nodded gravely.

"Lady Kaie."

The Forsworn leader slowly stood to her feet.

"My Queen?"

"I will need the Lord Icando's aid and advice on this expedition," Tala explained. "In the Queen's and the Hand's absence, I do name _you_ Regent of the Reach. You will keep the laws and Code of the Vodahmin, until my return."

Lady Kaie's eyes went wide, and she went to a knee beside her chair.

"I will endeavor to do so, to the best of my abilities, and to the last drop of my blood," she vowed.

"An oath that I know you shall keep," Tala nodded just as gravely. "Lord Vighar?"

The ancient vampire stood to his feet.

"Does the Army of the Blackreach stand ready?"

"They do, _my queen_ ," the Lord of the Undercity stated. "We have recruited, equipped, and trained for this moment. We will sail with you, fight for you, and die for you if necessary."

"Given the length of the voyage, we _will_ run out of blood and chattel for the vampires and werewolves," Tala stated matter-of-factly. "Therefore, all vampires and _were-_ beasts will be crewed within their own ships. _When_ they begin to hunger and thirst, make sure it is impressed upon them that their thirst can only be slaked by a swift voyage to our destination."

"A fine motivation, my queen," Icando Damn-Rune nodded approvingly.

"And now, my lords," Tala stated, rising to her feet. "The Lady Valerica and I have a gift for each of you, my War Council."

Servants entered, bearing covered trays. Gasps of surprise arose as they were removed.

"What are they?" Telstar asked, his voice cracking in the unguarded moment.

"These masks were created for the Dragon Priests of Old," Tala explained. "Each of them grants the bearers special powers and gifts, once bestowed only upon the most loyal of Alduin's servants."

Tala spread her hands wide.

"I can think of no better gift for you, my most loyal friends and allies."

She picked up each of them, presenting them in turn to each of the Council, the Lady Valerica assisting her:

To King Anorak Septim of Shornhelm was given the mask of Hevnoraak, granting him immunity to disease and poison.

To Beira, Red Lady of Fharun, was given Krosis, granting her powers of Archery and Alchemy.

To Nestor Constantine, Lord of Dwemer Research, was given the mask of Morokei, granting him a great boon to his command of magicka.

Telstar, King of Jehanna, received Rahgot, granting him strength beyond his years and frame.

King Aelfric of Evermor received the mask of Vokun, granting him abilities in the Alteration, Conjuration, and Illusion magic.

Might King Burguk of Orsinium received Konahrik, the tusked Dragon Mask matching his own canine teeth. The Healing powers it bestowed upon its wearer now redoubled the orc's power and prowess in battle.

General Kematu of Hammerfell received the mask of Volsung, granting the silver-tongued Redguard an even greater gift of Speech, and the ability to breath underwater.

Movarth Piquine, and Borkul the Beast, Wardens of the Reach, received the masks of Otar and Zahkriisos, granting them resistance to magic spells.

Icando Damn-Rune, Hand of the Queen, received the mask of Nahkriin, aiding him in both Destruction and Restoration spells.

Vighar, Lord of the Undercity, received the mask of Ahzidal, granting the vampire immunity to fire.

Lady Kaie, Regent of Markarth, received the mask of Dukaan, allowing the Breton near-Nordic levels of Frost Resistance.

As the various lords and ladies tested their masks and their powers, Tala quietly slipped from the room, where another figure in another Dragon Mask stood, clad in his signature robes, wearing his signature weapons once again.

"Dangerous, to give so much power away," Miraak stated calmly, as Tala stood beside him. "Unless, of course, you have made… special arrangements."

"I don't know what you mean," Tala teased.

"So you and the two Daughters of Coldharbour have spent the last three days with those masks and an Enchanting Table for _no reason_ whatsoever? And have added _nothing_ beyond the World Eater's gifts to each mask?"

"Just taking a chapter from a favorite author of mine," Tala grinned. "by the name of Tolkien."

"I do not know this author," Miraak admitted, lifting an eyebrow. "But then, I imagine I have much to catch up on, after my long absence."

"About that," Tala stated, changing the subject. "You are _free_ now, with no hold, oath, or bond holding you against your will. What then will you do now? Return to Solstheim? Begin your rule there?"

"You have a unique gift, Tala Niwot," Miraak chuckled, "of giving an opinion of a suggestion, even as you suggest it."

"I'm just saying, I will not stop you," Tala grinned back.

"I still have… much of my strength to recover," the First Dragonborn stated. "And… I owe you a debt of honor for arranging my release from Hermaeus Mora. I….will go with you to the Summerset Isle. After that… who knows?"

Tala smiled, and gave the former Dragon Priest a fierce hug, which he returned after a moment of hesitation.

"You will be _very welcome_ , Miraak of Akavir," she said warmly. "And it is _I_ who owe _YOU_ much, after bearing me safely from Apocrypha and across the realm of Skyrim."

Miraak patted her back somewhat awkwardly, opting after a moment to leave the hallway without any more than a non-committal grunt.

Tala grinned and made her own way down the halls until she came to her chambers. Pushing open the doors, she was greeted with the sight of Serana pacing back and forth, book in hand, and several more strewn across the floors.

"Tala," she greeted as the young woman walked in, "I've been thinking. There are vampire clans on the Summerset Isle. Hunted down and almost exterminated, true, but if we could get in contact with them…"

Her words were cut off by Tala seizing her and spinning her around to face her, and a fervent and hungry kiss was planted on her lips. Both women gasped for breath when the kiss was finally broken.

"I've had enough of councils, plans, and books," Tala said breathlessly. "Serana… no more plots. No more plans. NO more studying. Not for tonight. Now, take off your clothes."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **The next phase of the story begins to get underway, and we see the beginning of the plans of both Llewellyn Dragonborn and Tala Niwot.**

 **And before everyone jumps on me, NO, we did not address the GIANT bomb dropped in the last chapter. But WE WILL…. In the very next chapter. And I hope that it will meet with your approval**. **But I am glad that after so long, I can still surprise you.**

 **As always, please leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the reviews below! They are the fuel that keep the story moving forward!**

 **Rock on, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

LITERALLY EVERYONE: Yep, THIS WAS the plan all along. Next chapter will be JUST Potema and Tala talking about the plan, along with a… few other friends. So more WILL be explained. Stay tuned.

rc48177 – The next phase of the story begins.

hoplessromatic34 – the Story is FAR from over, no.

Smiling Seshat – Don't worry… I HAVE PLANS FOR THE DRAGONBORN.

Isamaru – I'm glad you picked up the game again! It's always fun to go back to!

Blaise Welshman – That… is an interesting question. I'm gonna have to give it thought. I know the dragons work VERY differently between the lore of the two stories.

griezz – A Ring, you say? A ring of say… Power? ;) And yes, the list of names has turned into a literal notebook beside my computer.

derpysauce – Yes. It was VERY hard.

NotRevan – I love GOT, but yes, I'd have to wait until the story ended before I wrote any fanfiction about it.

Thanks to all of you for the awesome reviews and comments! Love you all!

EE-RAH!


	40. Chapter 40: The Daedric Council

Tala awoke with a start. Gone was the lavish bedroom in which she and Serana had fallen asleep in one another's arms. In its place was a stone circular chamber with torches seated between scrawled symbols.

"Well, this is a worrying development."

Tala spun at the sound of the second voice, only to find another woman sitting up beside her. She was clad in regal dress, with a familiar-looking crown on her head….

"Potema."

The Wolf Queen was hale, flesh and bone, not the disembodied shade that had been Tala's constant companion for over a year. Neither was she the shade of Potema the Crone, as she had been when Tala first encountered her in the void. This was Potema, _the Wolf_ Queen, at the peak of her power and potency. From the look of shock On her face, she was as confused about it as Tala was.

"What is going on?" She whispered, touching her arms her hair, her chest.

"We must be dreaming," Tala concluded. "That's the only expla…"

A hole in the wall opened and the stones bent to form a stairway down into the darkness it had exposed.

"COME."

The two women rose to their feet, making their way down the narrow passageway that had appeared. Tala reached over and pulled a torch from the wall, while Potema waved her hands, and an orb of light appeared just over her shoulder.

The light increased, and after a moment, a circle of thrones appeared. In each chair of black obsidian sat a different figure. Tala's breath caught in her throat and Potema stopped dead in her tracks at the sight.

Azura – The Prince of Balance, night and Day, Light and Dark, sat perched on her throne, looking down her nose at the two figures.

Boethiah – The Prince of deceit, secrecy, conspiracy, treason, and unlawful overthrow of authority, her serpentine body coiled around the base of her throne.

Hermaeus Mora – The formless Daedric Prince of knowledge and memory sat, or rather _floated_ just above the throne, his coils lazily drifting in the ether, his myriad eyes all focused on the two figures entering the circle.

Hircine – The horned Prince of the hunt, sport, the Great Game, and the Chase perched spear in-hand, his antlers draped with what first appeared to be the normal velvet, but upon second glance appeared to Tala more like rotting human hides.

Malacath – The Patron Prince of the spurned and ostracized had chosen the appearance of a giant horned Orc, appearing the _most_ normal of the gathered Princes.

Mehrunes Dagon – Tala instantly recognized his red-skinned, four-armed form from the Oblivion games. The Prince of destruction, violent upheaval, energy, and mortal ambition looked nothing short of _bored_ , with one of his chin resting on one of his hands.

Mephala – Perhaps the most _striking_ of the group was the Prince of unknown plots and obfuscation. The Master Manipulator, the Sower of Discord had chosen the appearance of an Arachne, her massive bloated spider-body heaving herself onto a throne, beneath her effeminate form.

Molag Bal – The Prince of domination and spiritual enslavement had stuck with his traditional form of the Horned Lord, the almost skeletal face framed by descending horns. The clawed hands gripped the arms of his throne, a sharpened nail scrapping absent-mindedly.

Namira – The Prince of the "ancient darkness," the patron of all things repulsive, lived up to her name with her Chaurus-like body, razor-sharp mantis claws coiling and uncoiling as her body shuddered with… _anticipation_?

Peryite – The Taskmaster, the Daedric Prince of Pestilence, almost in a humorous middle-finger to Akatosh, had chosen the appearance of a green wingless dragon, the long body coiled in the seat, the long neck cocking sideways to regard the two women.

Vaermina – The Prince of dreams and nightmares, a deliverer of evil omens and dark portents. Perhaps most intimidating of all, she had chosen the form of a thick and impenetrable cloud of darkness, with only two beady red eyes peering through the mist.

Suddenly, with a flash of red smoke appeared a Dremora Lord, clad from head to toe in shimmering black armor. Sanguine – The Prince of hedonism, debauchery, and indulgences cracked his neck before sitting down, beaming a giant smile down at them.

"Well now, this is a sight I have not seen for… an age."

The seated figures turned towards the voice as Sheogorath – Prince of Madness, whose motives are unknowable, stepped into the light, dressed in the his signature haphazard, multi-colored tunic.

"A Daedric Council has not been called in…" He looked around at each of the faces, "A _looooooooong time_." A devilish grin broke across his face. "What fun."

Suddenly, the Prince of Madness held both hands above his head and _clapped twice_ , the noise a deafening thunderbolt.

"Nocturnal!" he called out, "I have come to bargain… teeheehee…"

With a _whoosh_ , a purple spinning portal appeared above one of the vacant thrones, from which stepped a female figure, clad in a regal ( _and VERY revealing)_ hooded robe.

"Who calls the…. Oh, _I say…._ " The woman looked around the room. "A _Daedric_ Council… how tiresome."

"STAY, Lady Luck _!"_ Sheogorath called out, when the Night Mistress went to step _back_ into her portal. "I'll do that thiiiiing you Iiiiiiike…"

The Prince of The Shadows paused, and regarded the Prince of Madness shrewdly, before an impish grin appeared on her face.

"Oh, very well," she chuckled, sitting down in the throne. "The _bargain_ is acceptable."

"There you go now," Sheogorath chuckled back, gazing around the circle. "Poor Old Clavi is still stuck in his cave, so that means we're only missing Miss Goody-Bright-Orb Meridia and my old _buddy, ol' pal_ Jyggalag, but I daresay we could grow _old_ waiting for those two to show up, eh? HahahAHHAHAAH!"

Tala and Potema shared a look before Tala nodded. Potema stepped forward, with head bent and hands outstretched.

"Honored princes…"

"Cease your prattle, daughter of Quintilla." Hermaeus Mora made a motion, and suddenly a chair _appeared_ underneath the Wolf Queen, wrapping barbed tenacles around her arms and around her mouth even before she could manage a scream. "Your mortal ambitions and aspirations have no interest for us."

All the formless eyes locked onto Tala, who met the Endless Gaze evenly, determined to show no fear.

"DAUGHTER…. I cannot REMEMBER the last time I felt…. _SURPRISE_."

"Indeed," hissed Mephala in approval, " _We confess ourselves… amused_."

"Ah saw that," Sheogorath stated in a perfect Will Smith voice, "Going daown diff'ently… in my haede."

Tala swallowed, looking over at Potema before answering.

"Would you have given me Miraak otherwise… just for the asking?"

The laughs that ran around the room turned the very air itself cold, and Herma-Mora's tentacles curled and trembled in an inscrutable expression.

"The Nords were never going to make peace with the Wolf Queen of Solitude," Tala continued, making eye contact with each of the occupants of the room. "Titus Mede was not about to allow a Septim to exist to threaten his throne, no matter what form she took. And the… _other_ Travelers…"

Now suddenly the chuckles of amusement and mirth turned to _hisses_ and screeches of _anger_.

"…would never have believed that I separated myself from Potema _voluntarily_."

"And on top of that," Mephala crowed, "The four mages brought over from the Soul Cairn to _guard_ the She-Bitch's remains now are _imprisoned there_."

"They violated the _bargain_ Potema made with them," Nocturnal nodded in begrudging approval. "They were to keep Tala and Potema separated… and they failed. Imprisoned, their combined power shall serve to anchor Potema to the Plane of Nirn… almost indefinitely."

A clapping noise came from Boethiah. "Such delicious treachery," she cackled. "Treacheries, built upon lies, upon technical and half-truths. _We are amused_."

"Enough," Azura called out from her throne. "We are not here to hold this… _Traveler_ accountable for the deception spoken to a Daedric Prince."

"Aren't we?" Sheogorath asked. "That's the only interesting part of this conversation."

"We are here," Azura continued, glaring at the interruption, "Because She threatens to disturb the careful balance of the world: Empire and Dominion. Light and Darkness. Aedra and Daedra."

"BALANCE?"

The shout tore from Tala's throat before she could suppress it.

"What BALANCE do you think _you have?_ The Thalmor hunt down all who do not call upon the Eight. All those who called upon your name or held you to reverence within their territory have been either wiped out or sent into hiding. The EMPIRE has done the same within their borders, thanks to the White-Gold Concordat. Black Marsh calls upon their precious Hist, and Morrowind stands in ruins."

She stared down Azura.

"I AM THE ONLY REASON ANYONE REMEMBERS YOUR FUCKING NAME."

"YOU DARE?!" Azura's gaze flared fury and anger, and she began to rise from her chair before a thunderous _BOOM_ stopped her. Mehrunes Dagon lifted his two left hands from where he had brought them down on his throne.

"Let the mortal speak, Azura," the Prince of the Oblivion Crisis stated… almost gently. "She has yet to say anything… untrue."

"Not since the Elder Times have our followers been so numerous," Molag Bal agreed, "Not since the Time Before Time have our names held such power upon Tamriel."

"Here, here," Malacath nodded. "My children are gathered together once more, and have discovered that they are strong."

"And now she seeks to move against the seat of the Aedra's power upon the plane of Nirn," Namira grinned, rasping her long, bladed talons against one another. "Tear down their temples! Violate the Sacred! Desecrate the Venerated!"

"The very _mention_ of the _Vohdamin_ brings the Altmer within my realm," rasped Vaermina, Queen of Nightmares. "They take to their beds, fearful of tomorrow's coming… and thus they stumble into my power."

"I must say, Herma-Mora," Hircine chuckled, " _this child_ is much more tolerable than the other two."

"By the Great Jibbers Crabs, _what_ a pair of unimaginative stick-in-the-muds," Sheogorath moaned, rubbing his temple. "They try _so hard_ to maintain and strengthen the old order. Personally, I call CHAOS!"

"To what end?" Azura hissed. "What plan are you hatching, Madman?"

"Do I look like I have a plan?" Sheogorath mumbled, tossing a wink to Tala. "I'm a dog chasing carts, Azzy. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I _caught it_. No, no, no… I just… DO."

"You are serious in your intention to betray the _Dragonborn_?" Boethiah asked, her expression almost _deliriously_ orgasmic. Tala gestured to the bound and silenced woman beside her.

"Ask her if she intends to give up her aspirations to her Empire," she stated evenly, even as the other Princes laughed.

"And what of YOUR aspirations, _daughter_?" Hermaeus Mora asked, "What is it that YOU seek?"

"POWER," Tala answered immediately. "Power to ensure that I and I ALONE am the master of my fate."

"I _like this girl_ , Potema," Sanguine chuckled. "I do, I really do."

"I intend to go to the arrogant assholes who call themselves _Thalmor_ and overturn their petty and useless order," Tala stated. "Afterwards, I will let the Titus Mede II exhaust his Empire in his wild fantasy to convince himself that he is Tiber Septim reborn. THEN, when the time is right and the way is clear…" she left the rest of the sentence unspoken.

"An unshaken and unchallenged order, left for too long, leads to stagnation, dear Azura," Peryite stated, the green dragon speaking for the first time, and Tala was surprised to learn how _soft_ and _gentle_ the Lord of Plagues' voice was. "From such disorder and chaos, champions _must arise_ , and establish a new order. From great darkness always come another dawn, which always leads to another night. And so the balance and order is maintained."

Azura slumped back in her chair and sighed deeply, but eventually she nodded, once.

"So be it," she stated simply. "Let it be done." And then she vanished, leaving her throne empty.

"Go, then, Tala of Wyoming," Mehrunes Dagon chuckled, rising to his feet. "Call upon me in the day of battle. SEE WHAT chaos we can bring!"

Then he too, vanished, along with Boethiah and Vaermina, but not before they each nodded in acknowledgement in their turn. Mephala and Namira likewise made small bows in Tala's direction, before vanishing back to their respective planes of Oblivion.

"You know _I'm with you_ , little Tala," Sanguine laughed. "What a merry party this shall be!" and then the Lord of Mirth departed, bound for the Misty Grove. "Enjoy my staff!"

Peryite uncoiled making his way towards where Potema was still bound and Tala was standing. Now up close, his dragon form was _giant._ The great head cocked at Tala, and then nodded, once before vanishing in turn.

"Let the Thalmor tremble and despair," Hircine cackled, spear upraised. "The Great Hunt is upon them!"

"And now… war," Malacath echoed.

At last, only three figures still remained in the Circle. Sheogorath looked over at Nocturnal, who still sat brooding.

"Well, Nocty?" he asked. "After all, the DragonArse _does_ bear the mark and mission of the Nightingales."

Nocturnal slowly stood to her feet.

"I can offer no help towards any who would work against my Champion," she stated at last. Before Tala or anyone else could answer, she grinned. "But aiding him against _you_ … was not in our bargain."

Then she disappeared.

"Oh TALA," Sheogorath cackled, "WHAT FUN WE SHALL HAVE! Keep the Wabbajack with you! You never know what it can do!"

Then, without flash or ceremony, the Prince of Madness… suddenly wasn't there.

That left only Hermaeus Mora as the sole remaining Daedric prince in the circle. The disembodied eyes hovered, blinked, and were SUDDENLY directly in front of both women. Potema's chair and restraints disappeared, and she tumbled to the floor.

"You LIED to me," the Woodland Man stated evenly. "You DECEIVED ME; EMBARRASSED ME. You made the Prince of Knowledge an accessory to your schemes! A DUPE for your plots!"

There was a horrible moment of silence.

"WELL DONE."

Herma-Mora's form relaxed, and almost seemed to tremble with the chuckle that now filled the air.

"You needed Miraak to defeat the Dragonborn.

You needed a crisis for me to release him.

You needed the Bow of Auriel to defeat Harkon.

You needed a mutual enemy to pitch against both the Nords and the Vodahmin.

You needed Potema banished to make peace with your Siblings.

You needed a well of Souls powerful enough to anchor Potema to this realm.

All this accomplished, with the charade of Potema Septim's treachery.

Well played, I say. Well played."

The arms faded back to the Void of Apocrypha.

"Perhaps you ARE the One I have waited for, for so long…"

* * *

 ***THE UNDERSTONE KEEP***  
 **MARKARTH**  
 **THE REACH**

Tala awoke with a start. Beside her, the naked form of Serana lay snoring softly. Tala leaned over and gently stroked her raven-black hair. Her nails traced the silk-smooth skin, down the back, and over the finely-shaped buttocks.

"What time is it?" the vampiress murmured sleepily, a drowsy smile spreading across her face.

Tala stretched to plant a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Our time, Serana," she whispered, "Our time."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **An exciting time in Tamriel. I hope this chapter answers _some_ of your questions, and clears up at least _some_ of the issues surrounding Potema and Tala's deception, and why the "betrayal" had to look real, even to Hermaeus Mora.**

 **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are welcome in the review section below! Your reviews and PMs are what keep me motivated.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

METALHELLSPWN: For now, the necromancers are acting as Soul-Batteries serving double duty of guarding Potema's remains, and anchoring her to this Plane of Existence, as punishment for not keeping their end of the Bargain (to keep Tala from returning to Tamriel).

NotRevan – Neither will I, my friend. Neither will I. I hope that the story will still be in the vein of previous ones. Tala is getting more and more into her own self-discovery, rather than being JUST the host for Potema, so we'll see some personal growth by all parties, but I hope the story doesn't alter its tone and pace.

rc48177 – Very appropriate. :)

JimmyHall24 – I also hope Miraak stays around!

griezz – "Oh, but you see, I'm the Hero of this Story… the rules don't apply to me." – Lewis, probably :P

AnotherGuest - *Spoilers…. ;)

SIDoragon – She really didn't. That's just the way the chips fell. Except now, the Dragonborn's paranoia is increasing. The possibility of Miraak returning, or the events of previous "games" being UNDONE has not entered his worst nightmares. So when faced with that horror, Lewis would MUCH rather believe that this was all a retaliatory strike by the Imperial Thieves' Guild.

Blaise Welshman – Yeah, it doesn't really translate to Skyrim and the ES Universe well… but still, something might be done.

Guest, jdboss1 – Thanks! Appreciate your taking the time to read and review.

trilbybard, Tech Warrior Ender – It is a lot of 4D chess going on. The whole scenario was a "taking down MANY, MANY birds with one stone" type scenario. But yes, plundering the Dragonborn was something Tala NEVER expected. Hashtag WINNING.

Fus Ro Duh – Hope you enjoyed it!

EE-RAH!


	41. Chapter 41: Alinor Falls!

***THE VODAHMIN COVENANT FLEET*  
THE SEA**

"My Queen?"

Tala Niwot looked up at the large figure in the doorway

"Yes, Helmmir?"

"We are drawing near, the captain says," the Lord of the Hunt stated, bowing low.

"Very good," Tala smiled, "Fetch the prisoners, and make the ceremony ready."

As the werewolf bowed and exited, Tala strode out of her cabin and onto the deck. Sure enough, there in the distance, the sea-cliffs of Alinor were a thin white line on the horizon.

 ** _I almost didn't believe we could pull this off,_** Potema whispered, only one of Tala's eyes flashing blue.

 _We haven't, yet_ , Tala corrected her. _There's still a small issue of taking the city._

 ** _We will succeed. Look there._**

Tala's head turned involuntarily towards a nearby island that was drifting past the Covenant fleet.

 ** _What do you see?_**

 _A small dark dot on the cliffside… an abandoned lighthouse?_

 ** _That should be a watch-tower, burning a signal fire to alert the city to our coming. But what do you see now?_**

 _Nothing._

 ** _Exactly. There is no watch for ships approaching the harbor, because no ships are supposed to be able to reach this harbor. Their arrogance has sealed their own doom._**

"My Queen?"

The Corsair captain stood a short distance away, awaiting orders.

"Run up the signal, Captain Chard," Tala stated. "Time to awaken our other passengers."

"Aye, my lady," Hasdach Chard grinned, and made a small gesture with his hand. A sailor moved to the stern of the ship, lifting a black cloth from a lantern in a frenzied pattern, sending the message to the ships following.

Tala took the stairs below-decks, where long rows of coffins lay, piled one upon the other. Two, however, stood separated from the others. In front of these, Helmmir and the Wolf Pack held two Altmer prisoners, bound and gagged. Tala took two steps forward, the Razor flashing once…twice. Their throats slit, the prisoners struggled feebly for a few moments, but then went limp as blood poured into the slit cut into the lids of each coffin. Suddenly, a hand _burst_ through the wooden planks, seizing the limp body and pulling it near. Now a head emerged from the coffin, shaking dirt and soil aside as fangs sank into the dying Altmer's neck.

"Welcome back, Serana," Tala smiled as a flush of color returned to the grey pallor of her… _consort? Girlfriend? Lover?_ "Did you sleep well?"

"How…how long?" Serana asked, collecting her sleep-dazed wits.

"Three weeks."

"Where are we?" Icando Damn-Rune asked from the coffin opposite, stepping out to receive a blood-red robe from a waiting attendant.

"Outside Alinor Harbor," Tala answered. "We are right on schedule."

"Mother?" Serana continued. "Vighar?"

"No doubt being awoken at this very moment, on their own ships."

"My Queen," Icando stated, looking around his surroundings for the first time. "We cannot _possibly_ have enough prisoners for all the coffins in the hold."

"No, we do not," Tala agreed. "Load the coffins into the trebuchet, and launch them into the city."

"Without the proper blood-ritual, my queen, the awakened will be… _feral_ ," Icando smiled, realizing the full scope of the plan. "You mean them to spread chaos in the city."

"I mean for them to drain this city dry, Icando," Tala clarified, clenching a fist closed. "Tonight, there is no room for mercy. We must strike Alinor with all of our might, and make an example that will be spoken of in fear and trembling for a thousand years."

* * *

* **ALINOR HARBOR*  
CITY OF ALINOR  
SUMMERSET ISLE**

"So what is the news from the mainland?" Hirra Jorlock asked, leaning on his spear.

Celera Joriuth spat in disgust before answering.

"Last I heard, Arenthia was still holding out against the Imperials," she answered. "In Elsweyr, the news is more troubling: the lizards have taken Senchal and are moving north, while Dune and Riverhold have fallen to the Imperials, who are moving south."

"They'll be quick to move when they reach the deserts," the first guard insisted. "Especially the Argonians."

"They shouldn't even _be in this war_!" Celera hissed. "Titus Mede must have really sucked some Argonian d—"

"Wait…" Hirra cut her off. "Did you hear that?"

Celera cocked her head sideways, but shook it when she heard nothing other than the sound of the waves lapping against the docks.

"What did you think you hea—"

Just then, _something_ came crashing down into the house across the street from them. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass broke the silence of the moon-lit night.

"What in the _Tower's Name_?" Hirra asked, hefting his spear and drawing his shield from his back. Celera likewise pulled on her helmet and the pair began sprinting for the house, from which screams could now be heard. But before they had made it across the street, another object _crashed_ into the pavement, sending splinters and… _was that dirt? e_ verywhere. A humanoid figure rolled from the impact, and then two red eyes gleamed in the moonlight. It was Celera who recognized it first.

"VAMPIRE!"

* * *

Canonreeve Aldnaro sprinted down the street, past a troop of the City Guard, who still looked mostly terrified, even in their splendid armor. Until today, a placing in the capital's guard was a coveted position among the prominent families of the Dominion, and it was a point of pride and prestige to serve.

 _But how many of these idle fops have seen combat?_ The High Seeker thought grimly. _And how much will their fancy jeweled armor actually help in a battle?_

"Canonreeve!"

Two robed figures ran towards him, one in the blue-black robes of the Thalmor, another in the red and gold of the Pisijic Order.

"Where is General Kerryn?" Aldnaro asked. "And the High Steward?"

"The General…she is dead," Agent Loriann gasped, "The sacred Temple is in flames… and no one has seen the High Steward since this raid began."

"Raid?" Aldnaro asked incredulously. "Have you seen the harbor, Agent? This is no pirate _raid_ , this is a damn invasion!"

"Impossible!" the Thalmor declared. "No one would _dare challenge_ …"

"LOOK. AROUND. YOU," the Canonreeve cut her off. "Someone _has dared_ , and _has_ challenged. Now who is in command of the city?!""

The two looked at each other and then back to the Canonreeve.

"You are, sir."

Aldnaro closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath.

"The Harbors are lost," he stated slowly. "I need riders headed towards Sunhold and Shimmerene. Tell them to send every sword and spear they can spare, and to prepare to receive our refugees. Pull every guard you can find north of the Market Square. Arm every mer capable of bearing arms, and have every spell-slinger defend the civilians as they leave through the Ayrenn Gate."

"We're evacuating the city?" Loriann asked incredulously.

"Look around you, Mer!" Aldnaro gestured to the devastation around them. "The city has fallen! All that is left is for us to protect the civilians!"

"The Crystal Tower…"

"The Psijic Order has the Crystal Tower," Aldnaro stated, nodding towards the priest. "They must be trusted to hold it if they can, or phase it if they cannot."

Quaranir nodded grimly. "We will hold it to the last, High Seeker."

"Set our civilians and our non-combatants on the Northern Road," Aldnaro continued. "And tell them… tell them not to look back."

The High Seeker, now the highest-ranking member of the Thalmor remaining in the capital, turned toward the broken and ruined gateway, gripping his sword with a grave expression.

"There is nothing but Death behind them."

* * *

 ***THE CYRSTAL TOWER*  
ALINOR  
SUMMERSET ISLE **

Another thunderous _boom_ shook the main gate of the outer walls surrounding the Cyrstal Tower. Quaranir stepped back, allowing another mage to take his place at the wall. He slowly made his way towards the entrance of the Crystal Tower, seeing another trebuchet shot from the harbor _crash_ against the Barrier surrounding the Tower. As he entered the mystical tower, he could see a group of the senior Psijic Order members gathered just ahead.

"What is the news, Quaranir?" the Arch-Magister asked.

"We can't hold them much longer," Quaranir answered truthfully. "The Lower Defenses report that they are encountering Dremora and other figures in full Daedric armor."

"Then our worst fears are confirmed," the Arch-Magister shook his head with a sigh. "This invasion is an attempt of the Daedra to gain control of the Tower."

"Long have they coveted our secrets," another Elder nodded. "Nocturnal, Mehrunes Dagon, Hermaeus Mora.."

"We must take the Tower out of phase."

A shocked gasp ran through the group.

"Out of phase?" Quaranir gasped, "But Arch-Magister… the city… the people…"

"It is our sacred duty to defend this Tower and the secrets it contains," the Arch-Magister spoke. "We have no choice, Quaranir."

The occupants of the room looked around and then nodded wordlessly. Then they each went to their stations, taking their places behind panels or by levers.

"Set Phase-course to Artaeum. Divert all power to the Pattern-Enhancers."

"No good, the core is destabilizing!"

"Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow and reinitialize!" Quaranir ordered, making his own adjustments to the power-core's blaring alarm.

"It's working!" came the welcome shout. "It's working!"

With a sound that was _almost_ a sigh, the Crystal Tower vanished, along with the hopes of every Dominion soldier still defending the burning city of Alinor.

"Cowards."

Despite Skoberth Black-Song's derision, Tala had to admit that she had been impressed at the sight of the massive structure… _blinking_ out of existence.

"We have control of nearly the entire city," Icando said, the undead Dunmer grinning behind the Dragon Priest mask his Queen had gifted him. "The remaining Dominion forces are retreating down the coastal road towards Sunhold."

"Is Miraak in position?"

"He is, my queen," Venarus Vulpin nodded. "The Lords Vighar and War-Raed are moving to support."

Serana joined the group in stride.

"Mother is overseeing the plunder and captives being loaded into the fleet," she reported. "They expect they'll be able to set sail by tomorrow night's tide."

"Excellent," Tala nodded. "Their route home should be much more direct. They'll be offloading into Wayrest by next week."

"Who would have believed it?" Vulpin shook his head in wonder. "Alinor burns."

"This is the easy part," Tala corrected. "We took them by surprise, and took an unprotected and ungarrisoned city."

"True," Icando nodded. "By now, the rest of the Dominion should be dispatching every soldier they can spare, and a few that they cannot, in revenge for shaming them so."

"The first blow has been struck," Tala stated, looking out over the glorious sight of more vampiric ranks offloading from the landing ships and moving inland. "Now the struggle begins in earnest."

* * *

The convoy of Altmer refugees shuffled down the Coastal Road, stealing terrified glances over their shoulder at the sight of Alinor, the jewel of the 3rd Aldmeri Dominion, capital of the Summerset Isle, engulfed in flames. Tongues of fire reached higher than the minareted towers, and great crashes could be heard as wooden supports gave way, leaving the massive stone structures to come crashing down.

Suddenly, a wolf howl rent the quiet silence of the early morning. The guards who were hurrying the convoy along drew weapons, spinning to face the woods inland. But it was from the coastal cliffs that the threat came. Werewolves sprang up the cliffside, launching themselves at the disordered, hastily-formed ranks. Behind them, black-robed figures began casting paralysis spells at the panicked and fleeing women and children. Giant spiders, bearing bow-wielding riders heaved their monstrous bulks up the cliffs, and towards the helpless victims, cocooning them in webs.

"DUR NEH VIIR!"

With a swirl of amethyst energy, the massive figure of an undead Dragon arose in the middle of the road.

 _"GEH_ …Yes!," the undead dragon crowed aloud, watching the huddled refugees scatter before him. "Too long I have suffered, and not known joy! Too long has it been since my enemies fled before me! _Nikriin!_ Too long has my name been forgotten by the tongues of _Jul_ and _Fahliil_ alike! _DIIL QOTH ZAAM_!"

At Durnehviir's shout, Wraiths and Bonemen sprouted from the same swirling maelstrom of magical power, axes and bows in-hand. Durnehviir turned towards the figure beside him, bending his head low to allow him to climb on his back. With a wave of his wings and a thrust of his powerful limbs, the massive dragon _lifted_ from the ground, spraying necrotic purple flames below.

 _"Grah-Zeymahzin_ , is it not a wondrous thing, to behold the _Lok_ of Tamriel again?"

Miraak waved Silnaakaan and his staff together, a wave of dark tentacles appearing in the road.

"It is true," the former Dragon priest panted. "I confess it…. _good_ , my friend. KIP JOT NAAK!"

The Dragon of the Soul Cairn laughed. "And 'Good Eating' to you as well, _fahdoni_. _ZOK BRIT GRAH_!"

* * *

 _Wail and Mourn, Children of the Aedra!_

 _For the Sun rises no more upon Alinor,_

 _upon the blessed Summerset Isle._

 _Wail and Mourn, Altmer!_

 _For the Crystal Tower is lost_

 _And all has passed into Darkness and Shadow._

\- _Lament for Alinor_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So now the second portion of this story begins: the Second Great War.**

 **My hope is that while the main focus will be on TalTema and their Vodahmin Covenant, we will also be seeing things from the various perspectives of the War's other fronts: Nord, Argonian, Imperial, Bosmer, Khajit, and yes, Altmer. I want to make the divisions of Covenant, Empire, and Dominion seem less black-and-white than they do in the games. Yes, these are different races, different sides, different world-views, but in the end... we're all just people.**

 **As always, your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms are always welcome in the review section, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

METALHELLSPWN: I'm not utilizing the mods in this story, as such. But (clearly) I'm not a stickler for "canon" either. For example, Lewis is rebuilding Helgen as his capital, but not as a part of the "Rebuilding Helgen" mod.

NotRevan: Where's an Infinity Stone when you need one? ;) But really, I would enjoy playing that mod. I just have zero talent when it comes to that type of technology.

griezz: Glad you picked up on that... But yes, the Plan was most likely conceived right after the Blades refused to follow Potema.

Guest: We haven't seen the last of Barbas... or his master.

DracoOblivion: As much as I could say, "Oh, yeah, totally meant to leave him there," I forgot to actually _say_ he left the room.

AnotherGuest: Tala and Potema are happily reunited and cooperating... FOR NOW.

jdboss1: Only problem with that is that Soul Trap requires an action, rather than being a static-state spell.

Luadog: Glad you could join us! I hope you'll keep reading!

Falling Turtle: My hope is to paint Tamriel as another world entirely. These are not people who have entered a video game, with code and correct dialogue choices. They are in real world with real people.

DarkChampion, AlphaSundew, Guest, Blaise Welshman, rc48177, hopelessromantic34, koseta.a, JimmyHall24, Valrew165, ranma hibiki, vmage2, Zeru'Xil, siddharth1998m: I appreciate it, everyone! My writing has improved with your suggestions and feedback, so I really covet those reviews! Keep them coming!

EE-RAH!


	42. Chapter 42: Battle is Joined

***ARENTHIA*  
** **REAPER'S MARCH  
** **VALENWOOD**

"FUS RO DAH!"

Rank after rank of the Dominion soldiers were flung back at the powerful _Thu'um_. Llewellyn Dragonborn raised his shield, blocking another incoming arrow from the branches high above.

"Faendal! Erik!"

Two figures in Blades armor stepped back, bows in hand. Beside them, Iona nocked an arrow, sending the feathered shaft up into the trees. A faint cry of pain followed, and a body tumbled down to the earth far below.

"Shields on me!" the High King called, the close ranks of squared Imperial shields parting to make way for the Blades' charge into the gap made by the Unyielding Force shout. Thalmor soldiers scrambled to regain their feet, only to find curved blades descending upon them. A robed mage fired a bolt of lightning towards the tall armored figure advancing against him, only to see the massive Nord shrug off the blast. Two spectral blades appeared in the Thalmor's hands, and he whirled forward to the attack. Another figure stepped in his way, a round shield blocking the magical weapons.

Lydia of Whiterun stabbed under her shield, feeling the mage twitch with a slight gasp before slumping to the ground. She pulled her blade free, eyes just above the rim of her shield, keeping to her King's left shoulder as they moved through the chaos around them. The High King's Dragon-bone armor set him apart from the rank and file, true, but it also made him a target for Dominion soldiers. Just ahead, a giant Imga, one of the gorilla-like inhabitants of Valenwood, scattered Imperial legionnaires left and right. The Great Ape bore a massive two-handed warhammer in-hand, bellowing a challenge in the elven tongue. Lydia knew what her king's reaction would be even before she saw the smile on his face.

"MINE."

Llewellyn Dragonborn leapt to the attack, trading blows with the large and powerful Imga soldier. Lydia spun right, blocking another magical attack, this time a pillar of frost. Her Nordic blood and her enchanted shield absorbed the full force of the blast, and then an Imperial _pilum_ caught the mage in the stomach, his attention being fully upon her. The force of the thrown weapon sent him tumbling backward, and Lydia turned her attention back to her King, just in time to see Llewellyn duck under a wide swing, Dragonbane cutting through elven armor as if it wasn't even there. The giant Imga stumbled forward for two shaky steps before toppling over. By now, the Dominion ranks were broken, and they were in full retreat.

"BREAK OFF! PURSUE!"

The legionnaires and their Nordic comrades surged forward with shouts of exaltation and triumph. It had been a long march southward, and they had been eager to meet their foe in combat.

"A fine start, sire," General Tullius stated as he and his staff walked up, wiping elven blood from their swords. "I think we can safely say that the Thalmor's siege of Arenthia has been broken."

"The path to the city has been cleared, sure enough," Llewellyn nodded. "But let's save our celebrations until we're well and truly in the city. We should have a better picture of the situation then."

Tullius nodded agreement, and the group set off, making their way through the remnants of the besieging Dominion army's camp. The orderly ranks of tents were abandoned, and groups of Imperials and Nords were dispatched to take a count of the captured supplies, gear, and weapons.

In the distance, the gates of the Bosmer City of Arenthia were opening, and a small party could be seen riding out towards the relief column, astride antlered stag mounts. As they drew closer, both Imperial and elven armor could be seen in the party. Nervous hands drifted towards weapons, but when they came without shouting distance, a hearty "Ave, Imperator!" rang out.

"Tullius, you old bastard, am I glad to see you!"

The veteran Imperial general broke into one of his rare grins as the first stranger dismounted and the two clasped hands.

"Pulling your irons out of the fire, as always, Sulla," he chuckled, and then cleared his throat when he remembered where he was. "Your Majesty, this is General Sulla Antonius, of the 7th Legion. General Antonius, this is King Llewellyn Hereon, former Legate of the 12th, and High King of Skyrim."

Antonius slammed a fist against his chest in an Imperial salute, a gesture which Llewellyn returned.

"Sire," the general nodded. "Even in Cyrodiil, the legends of Llewellyn Dragonborn have reached us. The 7th Legion and the city of Arenthia stands in your debt."

He turned and gestured to his two companions, both Bosmer.

"May I present Galas and Malborn Riverdale, of the Bosmer Resistance?"

"Malborn and I have met before," Llew grinned, shaking hands with the ex-steward. "I thought you had made your way into Morrowind, dodging Thalmor assassins all the way!"

"Y'ffre has smiled upon our cause," Malborn grinned, "My brother contacted me, telling me that he was working to rally what remains of our people who would not be slaves of the Dominion. I made my way south to Cyrodiil and then back here."

"It was _they_ who seized the city before our arrival," Antonius confirmed as Llewellyn and Galas greeted each other, and then sighed as he shook his head. "And it was their forces who helped cover our retreat from Falenesti. The Thalmor counterattacked sooner than we anticipated, and with greater numbers."

"You managed to get most of the 7th out of there intact," Tullius waved a hand dismissively. "Out with the sword, out with the plan."

The group shared a chuckle at the old soldiers' joke, and then their faces grew grave again.

"My army and the 12th are exhausted after the long march down," Llewellyn stated matter-of-factly. "As much as I would like to stay on the heels of the retreating Dominion, we're stretched out all the way back to the Imperial city."

"My soldiers are likewise in no shape for a march," Antonius nodded.

"The city's citizens have also suffered during the siege," Galas Riverdale agreed. "I would not like to leave them starving or defenseless."

"We will arrange for the captured supplies to be brought into the city immediately," Tullius replied. "You get your people to set up distribution centers for the food, we'll get it there."

"Our thanks," Malborn sighed in relief. "But the Thalmor won't run forever. What with the Imga almost entirely on the side of the High Elves, they'll be coming back, eager for blood."

"Damn apes," Galas spat with a curse. "They don't even realize that they're being sacrificed by the Thalmor while they hold their own forces in reserve."

"Not in reserve," Llew shook his head. "They're pulling as many Altmer troops as they can back towards the western coast, to fight the invasion of Summerset Isle."

Gasps of surprise and disbelief escaped the besieged party.

"You mean to say that someone's _actually_ invaded the Altmer homeland?" Malborn gaped. "We had heard rumors, but we figured that was what they were telling the Imga in order to justify holding their own troops back at Elden Root."

"The… _Covenant_ has landed an army at Alinor," Tullius answered, a knowing ' _Probably don't mention vampires and undead'_ look being exchanged between the High King and himself.

"My king?"

Llewellyn turned to see Delphine approaching, still panting hard from the pursuit, with her sword dripping Altmer blood.

" _He's_ here to see you," she said, gesturing back the way she had come. The High King of Skyrim nodded understanding, and excused himself from the main group, even as Tullius began telling the news of the fall of Alinor, a tale that was already being called "The Night of Woe."

"Where is he?" he asked the Blade commander.

"In the main Thalmor command tent," she answered. "I figured that would be easiest place to have a private conversation."

Llewellyn nodded his thanks, and then pushed aside the tent opening and moved inside. It took him a second to adjust to the dim lighting, but then a giant furry figure leapt at his open arms, and a long tongue lapped at his cheeks.

"LLEW! 'Ow youse doin', kiddo?"

"It's good to see you too, Barbas," Llew chuckled, pushing the Daedric dog back down and taking a seat beside him. "What news?"

"Right," the dog took a deep breath, and closed his eyes to repeat the message: "Tala says the Thalmor have rallied an army just outside of Sunhold, and they will probably give battle this afternoon. They outnumber the vamps and dead-o's about three to one."

"So many?" Llew marveled. "How did –?"

"She says it looks like they've stripped the cities of their entire garrisons, as well as conscripted every able-bodied Mer into their ranks," Barbas answered. "If she can break this army today, there won't be hardly a soldier left on the entire Isle."

"Ahh," Llew nodded, beginning to understand where this was going. "She wants… _it_ … to happen today, then?"

"I'm 'eaded to Winterhold to arrange it right afta 'dis," nodded Barbas. "She just wanted me to tell ya, so's you'd be prepared when it 'appens."

Llew sighed deeply, a thousand thoughts running through his head.

"Very well," he answered at last. "Tell Sarah that… tell _Sarai_ that we will be standing by… when she does it."

"You got it, boss-man," Barbas barked, and then suddenly, with a flash of blue-white light, the otherworldly hound disappeared.

"Akatosh, Arkay, _Talos_ ," Lewis Heron prayed fervently. "Forgive us for the evil we must allow today, to prevent a greater evil tomorrow…"

* * *

 ***SUNHOLD*  
** **ALINOR REGION  
** **SUMMERSET ISLE**

"What do you think, Movarth?"

The ex-Fighters Guild member stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked out at the marching ranks of Altmer far below their vantage point. There was a long pause before he answered his queen:

"Green, untested conscripts, for the most part," he scoffed. "I'd be surprised if more than one in _five_ of them had ever seen battle before."

"They are mostly volunteers, rallying to defend their country," Icando murmured. "We must not underestimate the threat they pose."

"Words like 'Patriotism' and 'dying for a cause' sound a lot hollower when arrows begin flying," Movarth continued. "They're good for maybe a single charge, or a head-on attack, but as soon as they think the tide is against them, they'll turn tail and run, no matter how much they love their country."

"If the Thalmor are smart, they'll throw their green troops at us in an inspirational charge for hearth and home," Lord Vighar shook his head disdainfully. "And then once they've all died gloriously, they'll send in their veterans against the spots they've created in our line."

"I have no doubt we could resist the first," Serana nodded. "But our numbers would be too weakened to resist the second."

Tala nodded. "Lu'ah, what is the condition of our thralls and draugr?"

"The ranks of our undead suffered the heaviest causalities at Alinor," Lu'ah Al-Skaven explained. "We currently possess nearly a thousand undead still standing. Of those, maybe a quarter are bowmen and spell-slingers, the rest brawlers and brutes."

"In other words, they're _likewise_ only good for one charge or so," Tala interpreted, and the Redguard necromancer nodded in begrudging confirmation. "Unlike the Thalmor, we only receive reinforcements if we _win_ battles."

"Well then," Miraak smiled. "Let's be sure that we win this one, then."

The party turned to remount their horses, riding down the narrow trail until they came to where the tree line gave way to open field. There, the Altmer were arranged in ordered ranks, with shields and spears in front and archers behind. Great siege engines were being put into place, ready to hurl bundles of arrows or lead shot towards the vampire ranks.

"They want us to attack across the open plain, in the open sunlight," Movarth snorted in derision. "What kind of fools do they think we are?"

"Sensible ones," Tala answered. "Every second we wait, their numbers increase, to the point that if we wait for nightfall, they will have set up enough fortifications that it won't even matter."

"Look there," Miraak pointed at the Altmer ranks. "Our friends came prepared."

Sure enough, groups of mages could be seen walking down the line of Dominion infantry. A yellow glow cascaded from their incense burners, down the shafts of their spears, and along the blades of their swords. In the distance, a slow chanting could be heard:

 _"Stendarr! Stendarr! Stendarr!"_

"Prepared to fight an army of the undead, at any rate," Tala nodded.

Just then, there was _whoosh_ beside the gathered party, causing everyone save Tala to start nervously. A giant hound strode up to sit beside Arvak.

"Well, Barbas?" Tala asked.

"She's hesitant to do it," the Hound of Clavicus Vile answered. "She asks if you can possibly withdraw, until she and the College are able to perform some more _tests_ on its effects and repercussions. They also have no idea how long it will last. She said to remind you…" the dog cleared his throat, and then adopted a _falsetto_ impression of the Arch-Mage of Winterhold: "This is not a game."

Tala clenched her fists, biting back the torrent of obscenities and curses Potema was shouting. She also instinctively closed her eyes, to prevent her eyes from betraying anything as well.

"Barbas," she said through clenched teeth, "Go back there and tell that _whiny, spineless_ BITCH…"

* * *

 ***COLLEGE OF WINTERHOLD*  
WINTERHOLD  
SKYRIM **

" _I am well aware this is not a game_ ," Barbas relayed, " _And if it were not immediately necessary, I would not request such a thing. But the time is now upon us, whether you're done tinkering or no."_

Sarai Gellarus, Arch-Mage of Winterhold, winced at the words.

"Thank you, Barbas. Tell her that we will take her words under advisement, but I will not _doom_ the world just to ensure victory for a day."

Now it was Barbas' turn to wince.

"She ain't gonna like this," he warned, before vanishing again.

Tolfdir shook his head as the smell of brimstone filled the air. "Why you trust that daedric familiar is beyond me."

"If you can think of a better way to cross _thousands_ of miles in a matter of moments, I'm open to suggestions," Sarai grinned. "Besides, he's a good-hearted dog."

"He's not a dog at all," Colette Marence objected. "He's an infernal menace!"

"Oh, dear little Colette, why don't you run along?" Faralda suggested. "If we need any Restoration spells, we'll call you."

Sarai held up a hand with a flash of flame as the endless bickering started.

"I will say this once and only _once_ ," she stated in her no-nonsense tone of voice. "Offer helpful suggestions, or you _will_ leave this room."

There was silence as the various academics resumed their seats. It was Drevis Neloren who spoke first.

"The fact remains," the Dunmer academic stated, "that we have no idea what the long-term effects will be. It could doom us forever!"

"On the other hand, it might dissipate in a single hour," Nelacar countered. "We will not know until we try."

Sergius Turrianus shot to his feet. "It's that kind of reckless experimentation that got you _expelled_ from this College, Nelacar!"

"And it is his expertise and experience that got him back _in_ ," Sarai cut him off. "Urag, do you have anything?"

The Orcish scholar shook his head dejectedly. "Nothing so far: Enthir and I have been through every tome even remotely related to this subject. All to no avail."

Phinis Gestor shook his head, folding his hand together in thought. "I still urge caution," he stated calmly. "We simply do not have enough information…"

The rest of his objection was cut off by another blueish portal opening in the center of the room. Barbas leapt into the room, bleeding from an Altmer arrow in his shoulder.

"The battle has been joined!" he called out. "She says to tell ya: Now, Buffy! Do it now, or we are all dead!"

Sarai reached out a hand, snapping up the weapon and striding to the balcony, followed by the still-bickering and clamoring faculty of the College. She looked down at the single Blood-cursed arrow that Valerica had made for her. She fitted it to the string, despite the multiple protestations behind her, and pulled back the Bow of Auri-El to its full extent, aiming the seemingly tiny weapon towards the bright orb of the Sun.

"Akatosh," she murmured, "forgive me…"

Then she shut her eyes and released the string.

* * *

 ***SUNHOLD*  
** **ALINOR REGION  
** **SUMMERSET ISLE**

The _Vodahmin_ archers may have been outnumbered three to one, but with their Dwemer Crossbows, they could fire four shots to the enemy's one, an advantage they pressed heavily when the enemy archers came within range. The Dominion archers went down like grass before a heavy wind, and the needless order soon came for their withdrawal.

The sight of the long pikes the red-armored vampires wielded was enough to deter an outright cavalry charge, so after a short deliberation, the Altmer decided to press the advantage of their superior numbers to the fullest. The order came, and the ranks of the Altmer buckled the knee to charge. Storms of arrows met them, but their armor was thick and their shields were broad. Many fell, but more crowded behind to take their place, and the Dominion ranks came forward, undaunted.

When the distance closed even further, spells and counter-spells were launched back and forth, as pillars of flame, lightning, and frost blasted forward, and portals opened behind the ranks of both side as Conjuration spells did their work.

Then suddenly, the closed ranks of the pikemen parted, and ranks of _Vodahmin_ cavalry poured out in a wedge formation, striking the incoming ranks like a hammer. The undead horses and mounts struck deep into the infantry, but the charge soon mired in the sheer numbers of soldiers the Dominion could send against them.

Tala swept her feet off Arvak as the undead mount vanished back to the Soul Cairn, sweeping out the Mace of Molag Bal, striking left and right, sending enemies scattering back.

"FAAS RU MAAR!"

The group of Thalmor immediately around her dropped their weapons, screaming in terror as the Dragon Aspect of Miraak appeared next to her, sword and staff in hand. On her left, Serana dropped a drained Altmer soldier, sweeping out twin scimitars to slash her way to her lover's side. Skoberth Black-Song's shield guarded her back, and Icando's throwing daggers cleared a path forward.

"ADVANCE!" Movarth called out, sheathing his sword and gripping an ashwood polearm of his own. "Push of Pike! Push of Pike!" The phrase became a chant as the vampiric warriors marched forward, stabbing, parrying and slashing as the Altmer soldiers tried desperately to break through the mass of pikes. On the right, Helmmir War-Raed _woged_ at the head of the Queen's Pack, the werewolves moving forward, supported by Venarus Vulpin and the Bloodspring Coven.

In answer, Thalmor mages moved forward, casting Auras of Stendarr and Sun Fire bolts began firing forward, incinerating vampires where they stood.

"Come on, Sarah, do it," Tala silently willed. "DO IT, you treacherous _bitch_ of a _Slayer_ …"

In that moment, there was a sudden _flash_ of red light, and the world went _dark_ for a moment. Not the dark of sunset or the night, but the pitch black of the darkest cave in the deepest corner of the world. After that horrible moment, there was an ominous and unsettling _red light_ that covered the once-sunny and open field. Nirn's sun, so bright and vibrant a moment ago, now was a black circle in a sky as crimson of the life blood being poured out on the field of battle.

"Sarah, I could _kiss you_ ," Tala chuckled. "Well done, girlie."

"Molag Bal be praised," Icando murmured softly, the words clearly discernable in the awestruck silence that had fallen upon the field.

"The Tyranny of the Sun… is ended," Serana gasped.

"FORWARD, _VODAHMIN!"_ Potema/Tala shouted, moving forward, Mace in hand. "OUR TIME HAS COME!"

In the red light of the changed sun, the light of the Aedra, their magic and their power, faded and ceased. Try as they might, none of the Thalmor mages could summon any magic of the Aedra, whether that of Stendarr, Arkay, or any other deity. In contrast, every vampire on the field felt their power redoubled, their thirst _magnified_ , and their reflexes quickened. The ordered ranks of pikes surged forward, bloodlust in their eyes and souls.

"RII VAAZ ZOL!"

The Soul Rend shout leveled Aldmeri soldiers, and then the bodies twitched and rose, under the First Dragonborn's thrall.

"THE SUN!" screamed the panicked ranks of the Altmer. "THE SUN! THE END OF THE WORLD!"

To their credit, the Dominion veterans came on doggedly, determined to pursue the victory that was quickly slipping through their fingers. Yet even the most battle-hardened among them were deeply shaken at the sight of the _Sun_ being, for all intents and purposes, extinguished. The conscripts and garrison troops, on the other hand, were in an absolutely raw panic, dropping their weapons and fleeing what they didn't doubt was the coming apocalypse.

"Now," Tala called out, and a nearby _Vodahmin_ soldier raised a standard, unfurling a black flag. At the signal, the undead ranks of the army surged forward, axes and swords in hand. They were the straw that broke the Netch's back. A full-on rout ensued, with the retreating ranks slamming into their own reserves, throwing the entire seemingly overwhelming force into complete disarray.

But there was no escape from the fanged death that now pursued them, and the ugly work of slaughtering the retreating Altmer army began…

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So we see some familiar faces in Tamriel, and we get a good gauge on how the Second Great War is going. The SI's have come a long way from their "don't disrupt the timeline" days, to the point of bringing Harkon's dream to reality, in order to secure a victory over the Dominion. Everything is relative, isn't it?**

 **ALSO, I know that I took liberties with magic ceasing to work under the Red Sun. But the canon result of ending the Tyranny of the Sun was just so… _boring_. The light changed color for a few hours, and sunlight no longer hurt vampires. The Sun IS a symbol of Akatosh's, and by extrapolation, the Aedra's influence upon Nirn. Interfere with that symbolism, and you create a lot more effects than a simple mood-lighting. So YES, it's artistic license… welcome to Fanfiction. **

**That said, I'm hoping you'll all enjoy this chapter!** **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are always welcome in the review section, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Luadog: Puny elf-crushing commencing…

CheshireTwilight: Glad you caught the reference.

FractiousDay: Yep, that's exactly what they did: sailed in. The Dominion armies are on the mainland, fighting against the Empire. The magical sea wall you mentioned in between the north coast of the island and the mainland. But just like the Mongols, as well as a certain conflict in 1939, the easiest way around an impregnable wall… is to go around it, and strike in the place no one expects you to be able to go.

SIDoragon: All will bow before the Vodahmin!

Draco Oblivion: And the vampires, werewolves, and daedra worshippers are the GOOD GUYS… *winks

METALHELLSPWN: It will probably be a couple of chapters before we get back to Markarth, but not to worry.

JimmyHall24: I'm glad you liked it. It just seemed like the easiest way to transport thousands of vampires on tiny ships for weeks at a time: small wooden boxes.

rc48177: the who now? You must be mistaken, sir. The Thalmor have assured us that the Sload are nursery rhymes and myths; nothing but old wives' tales to frighten children… *chuckles

AnotherGuest: the entire purpose of the attack on Summerset Isle is to capture slaves that the vampires can breed and feed on during the peace. The fact that the Altmer and Empire are at war is why the Empire is allowing them to do so without interference.

jdboss1: I believe it was a general during America's Civil War who said, "It is good that war is so terrible. Elsewise, men would grow too fond of it."

NotRevan, yusriluqman, Neeros: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! I hope you'll keep reading and reviewing! It means a lot to me!

EE-RAH!


	43. Chapter 43: Winds of Change

***RIMMEN*  
ELSWYR  
ALDMERI DOMINION**

Titus Mede II sipped a goblet of wine, looking down at the table, and the several porcelain figures decorating its surface. Here at Rimmen, a figure representing his army was laying siege to the city, marked by another figure with a cat's head.

In the south, an Argonian figure stood outside the city of Senchal, denoting the location of the Argonian army, and the progress of their invasion.

"My King?" asked Commander Maro. "He is here."

"Alone?" Titus asked.

"A small company," Maro answered. "But no weapons, as agreed."

"They are Khajit, commander," Titus nodded. "They need no weapons. But please, show him in."

The commander of the Penitus Oculatus bowed and held the flap of the Royal Tent aside to allow another figure to enter. Chief Baajirra of Anequina was an imposing golden-furred figure, clad from head to foot in red Khajit armor.

"Emperor."

"Thank you for coming, Chieftain," Titus acknowledged with a slight nod of his head. "Please, sit. Forgive me, I am only now partaking of my midday meal. May I offer you anything?"

The Khajit figure looked at the opulent platters of food, and only shook his head.

"No…but Baajirra thanks you."

The two leaders exchanged wordless glances. The involuntary glint in the Khajit's eye was enough to let Titus know that food was not still _so_ plentiful as to make this feast ordinary, yet not so scarce to make it irresistible.

"The Emperor has called Baajirra here," the Khajit chief bowed his head in turn, "knowing that Baajirra could not well refuse. What words from him to Baajirra?"

"Direct and to the point," Titus nodded appreciatively. "I can respect that. Allow me then to return the favor: I am seeking to put an end to this pointless siege."

"The defense of one's home cannot be called pointless," Baajirra grinned mirthlessly. "At least, not as easily as an invasion without purpose."

"The Khajit are fierce warriors," Titus acknowledged, pouring another goblet of wine and handing it to the Khajit chieftain, who accepted it gracefully, but did not sip until he observed Titus do so. "Only a fool would say otherwise. But what have the Thalmor done, to deserve the loyalty of such a noble warrior as Baajirra?"

"They ended the Oblivion Crisis," Baajirra shrugged. "Without them, the Khajit would be the slaves of the Daedra by now."

"Did they?" Titus asked, "Whose word besides theirs do we have to verify that? After all, the Imperial records claim that _Martin Septim_ ended the Oblivion Crisis, single-handedly. Here in Elswyr, if my memory of the Histories serves me correctly, the Khajit resisted the Oblivion Gates just fine on their own."

"The Thalmor restored the holy moons unto the Khajit," Baajirra objected, waggling a finger at the Emperor of Cyrodiil. "They ended the great darkness, bringing back Masser and Secunda."

"Perhaps they did, and perhaps not," Titus shrugged. "I am not a scholar or a mage, that I should know these things. But I am not here to argue what the Thalmor did or did _not_ do in the past."

"No?" Baajirra asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly. The Khajit had been expecting an argument, Titus judged, and had been bracing to spend the next several hours in a philosophical debate.

"No," Titus repeated. "I am here to ask you what the Thalmor have done for Elswyr _since_ assassinating the Mane."

A low growl escaped the Khajit chieftain, and clawed fingers played on the golden goblet.

"The Mane _was_ assassinated by the Thalmor," Titus emphasized, "of that there is no doubt, yes?"

"So many believe," Baajirra growled noncommittedly.

"And since then, they have divided a once-united land into two principalities," Titus continued. "They have _encouraged_ the tribal conflicts and petty squabbles that have sapped the Khajit of the once-indomitable power they once possessed."

Baajirra said nothing, only taking another carefully-measured sip of the fine Cyrodiil wine.

"Forgive me," Titus stepped back, "I have diverted into speculation and rumors. Let us turn back to facts, hard and indisputable. Thus far, the Southern Kingdom of Pelletine has not been able to resist the Argonian army."

"Thus far," nodded Baajirra.

"And thus far, Anequina has not successfully repelled the Empire."

"The Khajit, it can be argued, _are_ successfully repelling the Empire," Baajirra countered. "Every day the Emperor stands before Rimmen's walls, is a day he cannot move against the Dominion elsewhere."

"And yet, _alone_ , the Khajit are not strong enough to drive the Empire _from_ their walls," Titus insisted. "How many Dominion reinforcements have since arrived in Rimmen? How many Altmer soldiers have bled to ensure the Khajit of Rimmen can eat a full meal? How many Bosmer have stood side-by-side with the Khajit to fight us?"

"How many _Argonians_ have come to stand beside the Emperor," Baajirra grinned.

"Soon enough, _thousands_."

Both men turned at the voice, the Khajit's hackles visibly standing on end. Kelan-Tel, King of Black Marsh, strode forward from the entrance of the tent, and accepted a third goblet offered by Titus Mede.

"Senchal has fallen, then?" Baajirra asked, glancing back and forth between the two rulers. "No, impossible: Baajirra would have heard _something_ of it…. Argonians have lifted the siege and _marched_ north. But… how? Why?"

" _Swam_ north, actually," corrected Kelan-Tel. "We Argonians can move as quickly up-river as you Khajit across the warm sands."

"But the fact remains, Chief," Titus smiled, "that Rimmen now faces _two_ armies before its walls, outnumbered eight to one."

"Unless Pelletine marches north to our relief," Baajirra snapped.

"Baajirra," Titus shook his head. "Even as those words escape your lips, their hollowness is revealed. The Thalmor have ensured that the blood-feuds between North and South are too great for the Khajit of the South to march to your aid, Dominion or no Dominion. No, they will sit and do nothing beyond watching you die just to buy them time to rebuild their strength."

Baajirra now pointedly placed his goblet down on the table between himself and the other two figures, but his jaw and fists were clenching in barely-concealed frustration.

"Khajit are to be slaves to the Empire then, rather than slaves of Dominion," he said bitterly. "Always to serve, never to rule."

"I said nothing about serving," Titus added hurriedly. "This is not a demand for your _surrender_ , Baajirra."

"This is an offer for you to _join_ us," Kelan-Tel nodded. "As an equal, and a brother."

The Khajit looked at each one, growing incredulity on his expression.

"You are serious?"

"The Altmer have abandoned you," Titus explained. "They are pulling their own forces westward as quickly as possible, in order to save their own hides. They have left your people to die because to them, you will always be _Besmer,_ or perhaps, more appropriately, _Beasts_ ; little better than animals."

"Let us come to an understanding, great Chief," Kelan-Tel continued. "We are joined together in common purpose: Not with any one ruling over all, but equals, united in the goal of ending this pointless war. But we cannot do so as long as the Thalmor believe the Altmer higher or more _pure_ than humans, or Besmer."

"What then do you propose?" Baajirra asked slowly.

"Simply this," Titus answered, "that Aquitania stand with Black Marsh and Cyrodiil when we march back south. We will quickly bring Pelletine to heel. If they could not resist _one_ army before, they are no match for _three_."

"And after?"

"There will be a need for new leadership of a united Elswyr," Kelan-Tel answered. "Someone to unite the Khajit under one banner, under one throne."

Baajirra now bared his teeth and flexed his claws.

"The holy office of _Mane_ is NOT one that can be taken or bestowed," he insisted. "Baajirra will not commit such sacrilege, or suffer any other Khajit to do so."

"Of _course not_ ," Titus agreed with almost as much indignation as the Khajit had. "The Mane is _reborn_ , in the light of the Third Moon. Gods willing, _he_ will return to us, and soon."

Baajirra cocked his head, surprised that a human knew so many of the details of the Khajit religion.

"But _until he does return_ ," Titus continued, "There will need to be someone to rule… _in lieu_ or _in absentia_ of the Mane. A new office… an new rank… perhaps _High Chief_ , or even _King_. And I can think of no Khajit more fitting to fill the role… _Baajirri_."

Now the Khajit chieftain started slightly at the Royal suffix being added to his own name, and he blinked, very slowly, and straightened, slightly and subconsciously.

"A _united_ Elswyr," he said slowly.

"One that ensure that _no one,_ Man, Mer, or Besmer, would be strong enough to oppress the Khajit ever again," Kelan-Tel nodded. "One who take a seat at the Council of Kings, with an equal voice and rank."

"Council of Kings?"

"An annual meeting of _all_ the rulers of Tamriel," Titus explained. "A place where the problems and disputes of Nirn could be solved by diplomacy, without sword or dagger. A way to ensure a _lasting_ peace; one forged without conquerors or tyrants."

"High King Llewellyn of Skyrim, _King_ Morvayn of Morrowind, Emperor Titus of Cyrodiil, and myself have all agreed to form this Council," Kelan-Tel stated. "High Rock and Hammerfell's union in this new… _Vodahmin_ Covenant, have allied themselves with us as well, undertaking the invasion of Summerset Isle directly. It is only a matter of time before they formally join us."

Baajirra stood for a long moment, staring down at the map on the table.

"This… is not a decision Baajirra may make alone," he said finally. "Baajirra will present your words to the other chiefs. It… it may be that they agree with Baajirra… and accept this proposal."

Titus felt a wave of relief wash over him, and he had to resist _hugging_ the Khajit as Kelan-Tel and Baajirra exchanged salutes, and then clasped hands with the chieftain.

"We will be waiting… _Baajirri_ ," he grinned, and was rewarded with a toothy grin from the Khajit as he turned and left the tent. He turned towards the Argonian ruler.

"How did the journey go?" he asked.

"You know, I had almost forgotten how _exciting_ it was to travel alone," Kelan-Tel answered, picking up pieces of the feast laid out before them before deciding on a chicken leg. "No guards, no entourage… it _almost_ reminded me of two young princes, walking the roads of Cyrodiil, having escaped their tutors and escorts."

Titus Mede chuckled at the two's shared memory, and then his face grew serious again as he returned his gaze to the map, moving pieces around as he spoke.

"I hope you are managing _your_ siege better than mine," he said gruffly. "Every time we smash a breach in a wall, their _damn mages_ have it repaired before we can organize an assault."

"The siege of Senchal goes well," the Argonian nodded. "My engineers are tunneling beneath the eastern wall. Before long, we will have achieved a breach."

Titus moved an Altmer piece, setting it down in the south of Valenwood.

"Llewellyn is tying down the Altmer Second Army at Falenesti, and we've managed to smash the First Army between us."

Kelan-Tel's tail lazily flicked the First Army's icon over, sending it rolling off the table.

"The survivors are well and truly on the run back towards Southpoint."

Titus chuckled again, shaking his head. "The Altmer care very little for their allies, when it is _their_ homes burning and _their_ families suffering. I tell you, my friend, war is much more fun when you're winning."

"We've done alright for ourselves," Kelan-Tel agreed. "The campaign has gone _much_ smoother than either of us anticipated."

"Yes, because there have been no reinforcements dispatched from Summerset Isle. The latest messenger reports that the Vodahmin have followed up with their victories on the Blood Sun Day. Dusk, Sunhold and Shimmerene have each fallen to the _Vodahmin_. Lillandril has been evacuated. What remains of the Altmer Home Guard has fallen back to Cloudrest."

"An invasion of the Altmer homeland," Kelan-Tel marveled, shaking his head. "Who would have believed it? This Tala Niwot has worked _marvels_ , I tell you…turning the Sun _dark_ for an entire _day?_ Followed by a night lit with blood-red moons… no wonder some are calling her the Witch-Queen."

"I would like to meet her," Titus Mede nodded appreciatively.

"Really?" Kelan-Tel arched an eyebrow. "You want to _meet_ the woman who stole not one, but _three_ provinces from Imperial rule?"

"And how many legions would I have received from High Rock?" Titus shrugged. "How many Redguard and Breton rulers could I depend on before she came along? In perhaps the largest twist of irony, in _leading_ a rebellion against me, we gained an untold ally in this war."

"When put that way," Kelan-Tel chuckled, "Losing the North to the _Vodahmin_ Covenant was the best thing that could have happened for us. Not even the _Hist_ foretold the rising of the _Vodahmin_ , and they see all…"

"It… certainly was unexpected," Titus admitted. "When Tullius and Llewellyn put down Ulfric's damn Stormcloak Rebellion, I thought that would be the end of it. But that also meant that I would have had to dispatch troops to garrison half of Skyrim, not to mention help my Breton 'allies' in their pointless squabbling and in-fighting."

Titus Mede stared at the red-eyed icon sitting in Summerset Isle, representing the _Vodahmin_ 's army.

"Where did you _come from_ , Tala Niwot?" he wondered aloud. "More importantly, what are you going to do _next_?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, here we have yet another perspective on this War, and another agenda. Titus Mede II is no Tiber Septim, and what's more, he knows it. He seeks to gain power and influence via a different means altogether: a more diplomatic means.**

 **The old man you meet on the _Katariah_ is no conqueror, or even a tyrant for that matter. But there is no option to NOT kill him in the game, and I find that infuriating. Why NOT side with the Emperor, and instead kill the traitor, in exchange for more gold, and perhaps a lucrative relationship as the Emperor's personal assassins? But then again, nobody asked me when they were creating _Skyrim_. **

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are always welcome in the review section, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

tatewaki2000, koseta.a, Rinto, METALHELLSPWN, jdboss1, Luadog, Neeros, zanpaktospirit0 – Glad you liked the battle. I just wanted something "Ending the Sun" to have a bigger impact on, you know, EVERYTHING.

griezz – You asked for Titus Mede II and the Argonians, you get Titus Mede II and the Argonians...

FractiousDay, Rogue Survivor – I'm going to get a lot of detail fudged, and sometimes outright wrong. That's pretty much inevitable. But that's why I'm thrilled to have readers/ reviewers such as yourselves to come alongside and give tips/ corrections!

AnotherGuest – Shouting is technically a _language_ , and the power is innate. Or at least… in my Elder Scrolls Universe.

rc48177 – Excellent poem, as always, my friend. You have a gift.

TheHatter1 – In the real world, there is no such thing as nerf-ing a weapon.

JimmyHall24 – No Dragonborn reaction in this chapter. Stay tuned!

trillbybard – Awesome! PM me when you get your fic up! I'd love to read it!

Bloodwolf432 – To be honest, this just came out of an idea I had while I was playing Skyrim. Specifically, the Wolfskull Cave mission. I just thought…what would happen if Potema escaped? And the story grew organically from there. I needed Potema reborn, but I also needed her to have knowledge of what was _going_ to happen in the game. Thus, a Traveler was introduced: Tala Niwot. But then, I got to thinking about the other questlines, and how Tala _couldn't_ very well take down Alduin or become Arch-Mage with the Wolf-Queen stuck in her head. Thus, the other two got introduced to the story (Lewis and Sarah).

EE-RAH!


	44. Chapter 44: Field of the Cloth of Gold

***FALENESTI*  
VALENWOOD  
ALDMERI DOMINION**

Lewis Heron took in the breathtaking sight. Never before, not since the days of Tiber Septim himself, had such a gathering been assembled. Already, and he did not doubt, for a hundred years after, the event was being called "The Field of the Cloth of Gold." The various diplomatic envoys seemed determined to outdo one another in the sheer opulence of their entourage. Even his tent, made of pure white Sable Cat fur, seemed rustic and primitive next to the silks of the elves and heavily jeweled and embroidered tents of the Imperials.

Here in the central tent, Titus Mede II, Emperor of Cyrodiil, sat in state, clad in the full resplendence of his office. The Ruby Crown sat upon his brow, and the armor that covered his robes of state was inlaid with sapphires, rubies, and amethyst.

Llewellyn Hereon was likewise clad in the regalia befitting the High King of Skyrim: he was wearing the Jagged Crown, with Dragonbane at his hip, and the Axe of Ysgramor clasped to his back. His armor, on the other hand, was the _supremely_ functional, but no less awe-inspiring armor made from the black Dragon scales of the World Eater Himself. It made him a near-match for King Kelan-Tel of Black Marsh, likewise armored from head to foot, bearing twin sickle-like Argonian swords at his back.

Next to him was King Lleril Morvayn of Morrowind, in contrast wearing no armor at all, only the red and black robes of his state, though they were indeed splendid. It seemed odd to Llewellyn to see a Dunmer and an Argonian standing side-by-side as _allies,_ when their history was filled with tales of each other's armies enslaving each other's populations. But here they were.

The two newest occupants of the dais were High Chief Baajirra of Anequina and Galas Riverdale, newly named _Silvenar_ of Free Valenwood.

A piercing trumpet signaled the arrival of the Aldmeri Dominion's envoys. The various hushed conversations ceased, and the rulers of the Imperial delegation moved to their seats or stood proudly to watch the three figures now entering the tent, accompanied by their entourage:

Lady S'hila Jatani of Pelletine shot daggers at her fellow Khajit standing next to the Imperial Emperor. She was the last of the Khajit general that had not laid down her arms, but despite being severely outnumbered, she had held off not only the Imperial and Argonian forces, but also those forces who had defected to the Imperial cause.

Beside her, Lord Zimba of Valenwood had not opted to shave his fur, like many of his kind chose to, but the Imga lord strode on his hind legs, bringing him to his full, and very impressive eight-foot height. The silver-black fur shimmered, no doubt slicked with oil and perfumes. It was odd to Llewellyn that these two Beast-men races had chosen to remain loyal to a regime that despised everything about their very existence, but such was the will of Fate, it seemed. The Imga had pledged themselves to the Dominion, and as such had provided an invaluable core around which loyalist Bosmer forces had rallied. Wisely, they had never offered pitched battle to Llewellyn and Tullius' armies, but had managed to make any offensive impossible as they attempted to defend their long supply lines back to Imperial territory.

But more striking than both of these rulers was the Altmer who, by his armor and robes, had to be High Seeker Aldnaro of Summerset Isle. He bore the same look of prideful distain that most Altmer wore, but beneath it, Llew could see a _pain_ that those other Altmer he had known never sported. When the High Seeker opened his mouth to speak, it was not in the high-pitched, arrogant tone that his countrymen were famous for, but instead was a low-toned, and ultimately-practical tones of a seasoned warrior.

"Now that we no longer have to prance for our audiences outside, can I suggest we forgo the posturing and self-congratulations, and proceed to the practical aspects of these negotiations?"

Mouths gaped in surprise. To hear an Altmer ask to _shorten_ talks was like… like… seeing the sun go black in the sky, or having an army attack the Altmer homeland: impossible.

 _It's a mad world we live in._

"Would you, as the host, care to speak first then, High Seeker?" Emperor Titus Mede II asked, keeping to Dominion protocol.

"I thank you, Emperor," the High Seeker nodded as the three Dominion envoys took their seats on the dais. "Gathered… lords and ladies, I see little or no purpose in empty threats or high-handed promises. This is a time for facts, hard and unquestionable. And the facts are thus: You have invaded our territory and won several victories. Many of our armies have been scattered."

There was an uneasy silence that followed.

"As you no doubt have heard," Aldnaro continued undaunted, "Our Third Navy has been defeated at Stros M'Kai by this new Vodahmin Covenant, out of Hammerfell."

Whatever the group expected, it was not this level of directness or honesty.

But the fact also remains that however bleak the situation may be elsewhere, we still have several armies here, on the mainland, capable of fighting for another hundred years."

The room tensed.

"But this is neither our desire, nor our goal."

"What then is your desire?" Titus Mede asked, adopting the tone of an almost kindly grandfather-type figure.

"We desire only to return home," Aldnaro answered. "To deliver the Summerset Isle from those who have desecrated the holy temples. Those who stand cursed in the eyes of the Aedra."

"…and now you have no fleet to give you passage over," Llewellyn nodded in understanding. "Not since the Redguards have sank the Third Fleet."

If Aldnaro was offended, he did not show it, instead simply nodding assent to the stated fact.

"What then _do_ you propose?" Lleril Morvayn asked.

"A cessation of hostilities," the Imga lord answered simply. But Galas was on his feet in the next moment, the Bosmer resistance fighter's eyes blazing fury.

"We have you on your heels, _a hair's breadth_ from extinction," he mocked, "OF _COURSE_ now you wish to call for a cease-fire."

"We have suffered defeats, yes," Zimba retorted, the massive gorilla baring sharp white teeth, "but we are very far from extinction, _Heretai_."

Galas' hand went to his belt, and it was only Llewellyn's quick and powerful hand closing on his wrist that prevented him from drawing the dagger sheathed there.

"The question then is," Lady S'hila stated, adopting a _slightly_ more conciliatory tone, "Are you willing to fight another _decade_ in the hopes of _perhaps_ achieving a bloody and costly victory, all for the sake of _a vampire horde_ on Summerset Isle?"

The talks went on and on from there, mostly centering around where, _IF_ a truce were to be called, the border between Anequina and Pelletine would be, and likewise how much of Valenwood the Dominion would retain. When a brief respite was announced, and servants came in bearing wine and food, Titus Mede II found his way to stand beside Llewellyn.

"Llew?" he asked gently, using the High King's first name. "You have been markedly quiet this morning."

"We are _negotiating_ ferrying the remnants of the Dominion back over to Summerset Isle," Llewellyn answered slowly.

"So they can reclaim the island from the vampire horde now terrorizing the Altmer homeland," Titus Mede nodded.

"That _'vampire horde'_ is the _only_ reason any of us have had the successes we have achieved," Llewellyn objected. "Without Tala Niwot and the _Vodahmin_ , the Aldmeri Dominion would have been able to ferry reinforcements across the Blue Divide, and Baajirra never would have defected with Anequina, to say nothing of Riverdale and the Bosmer Resistance."

"All true," Titus nodded thoughtfully, "But now they are all that stands between us and a final, lasting victory."

"What victory?" Llewellyn asked. " _Assuming_ we can ferry them across without encountering the Redguard or Breton fleet, and _assuming_ they can succeed where _two Altmer armies_ have failed and kill Tala Niwot and the Horde she now leads, it will ONLY lead to a renewed war in the North. The Foresworn and the Bretons will march south, eager to avenge their queen, and Hammerfell will follow."

"The Redguards have no stake in starting a war with us," Titus Mede waved dismissively. "We'll give them some territorial concessions and more trading posts for their merchants, and they'll stay out of this would-be Daggerfall Covenant. With them out of the picture, it's only High Rock against a combined Tamriel, hopelessly outnumbered."

"Regardless," Llew persisted, "If we turn our backs upon them now… no _, if YOU BETRAY_ them now, it will be Nordic towns and villages that will suffer the wrath of the _Vodahmin_ , it will be _Nordic_ blood spilled."

* * *

 ***RUINS OF CLOUDREST*  
SUMMERSET ISLE  
ALDMERI DOMINION **

"And that's why Llew sent me 'ere, Tala."

"I owe him much for this, Barbas," Tala nodded. "And you, too."

Barbas sat down, his tail wagging at first, but then slowing as he surveyed the furious faces before him.

"So that's it, then," Venarus Vulpin hissed. "We are betrayed by the very allies we _saved_."

"Titus Mede means to reestablish his Empire," Vighar shrugged, "This gesture will win him, if not the friendship of the Altmer, at the very least, their cooperation."

"With his southern flank secured, he will move on the North," Movarth Piquine nodded in agreement, "With Black Marsh in his back pocket, and Skyrim in his front, he can do it."

"That's all and good," Serana added, "But what then are our options? It would take the Fleet _at least_ a week to sail around the Sea Wall to reach us at Alinor."

"A _fortnight_ , more like" Icando Damn-rune corrected. "Assuming that Titus Mede II does not first deploy a fleet to intercept them."

"We don't need the fleet," Tala Niwot said matter-of-factly, in the tone of voice that the council recognized at once as her 'I-Know-What-To-Do' voice. "Barbas? Tell her it's time."

"Tell who it's…OH," Barbas nodded, and then Clavicus Vile's servant disappeared in a flash of purple smoke.

"Tell _who_ it's time?" Serana asked with a puzzled look.

"Your mother, my dear."

Serana's face went even _more_ puzzled.

"Time for what?"

"Time to arrange another passage home."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hey everyone, just wanted to add this short bit as an "I'm not dead, and neither is the story" announcement. Fatherhood is a wonderful, exciting adventure, but it doesn't leave a whole lot of leisure time for writing, unfortunately. But I'm still working, plugging along, to bring this story to its Third Act. No idea how long that may be, but I thank you all for your patience, and your kind words ( seldomheardkidDOTdm, Fus Ro Duh, and Not Revan, Looking at YOU, my friends).**

 **So, the question is, "How far does a ruler go to ensure victory?" Does that include betraying ones' allies, and going back on your word? Does it include rebelling against your sworn ruler, and seeking new safeguards for one's freedoms? Questions, questions…**

 **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are always welcome in the review section, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

rc48177 – World's largest laser pointer? LOL

Bloodwolf432 – I intend to go on with this story, regardless if the game confirms or contradicts whatever lore I've wrapped up in my story. I'm certainly hoping it's a return to Hammerfell, or perhaps a visit to Elsweyr? Either way, I'm excited about it, but don't intend on it changing my vision for this story too dramatically.

Another Guest – there are no NPC's in the real world. Everyone is capable of coming up with both tactics and counter-tactics. And no matter what your plans are, somewhere, someone is coming up with a reaction to it.

FractiousDay – Can't claim 'Besmer' as my term. ES canon uses it to refer to the Beast-men races.

NotRevan – Tala v. Titus would be a fun conversation to write…

griezz, jdboss1 – I understand _why_ you _shouldn't_ kill him the game. I just object to the _option_ not being available to _NOT_ kill him.

Nahoo – Thanks! Welcome aboard! I don't currently plan on any Akavir showing up, to be honest.

Guest – Blood for the Blood GOD!

seldomheardkidDOTdm– the Ebony Warrior is strictly a creation of the game in a last-ditch effort to kill the high-ranking player. In a sense, Tala IS the Ebony Warrior for the "late-game" Lewis and Sarah.

METALHELLSPWN, JimmyHall24, derpysauce, Comrade Megumin, NotRevan – Thanks! I really appreciate the support! You are all, each of you, AWESOME.

EE-RAH!


	45. Chapter 45: Cairn Crossings

***THE SOUL CAIRN***  
 **OBLIVION**

"By All the Daedra."

Lord Vighar blinked, shook his head, and blinked again.

"I would never have believed it if I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes."

Rank by rank, the Vodahmin Army marched into the portal that had sank beneath their feet, into the swirling Chaos Magic that opened to the realm of the Soul Cairn. The vampiric ranks marked through unaffected, and the others clutched the Black Soul gems that were the price of their passage. At the bottom of the stairway, Tala, Serana, and the other officers directed them forward.

"Your mother has come through for us," Tala grinned towards the white pillar far off on the horizon of the Soul Cairn. "There is our doorway: straight into the heart of Markarth, and the Understone Keep."

"A passage of a thousand leagues traversed in a single day," Serana marveled, grinning alongside her royal lover. "Tala, my love… you are a genius."

"I try," Tala smiled modestly.

"My Queen!"

Skoberth Black-Song came running up to the pair.

"Something's coming this way, my Lady."

Tala nodded, and began walking to the front of the army, her entourage falling into rank behind her. Grinning, she cast the Conjuration Spell in her right hand, and Arvak appeared alongside her. With a leap practiced since she was a little girl on her father's ranch in Wyoming, Tala was astride the spectral steed and laughing as she outpaced her comrades. In only a few moments, she reached the front ranks of the army, and dismounted next to Miraak.

"Who comes?"

"Who else?" the first Dragonborn shrugged, "But I believe they have come to _talk_."

"They are the Ideal Masters," Tala agreed. "That's what they're good at."

"They will try to strike a bargain," Miraak stated, a thousand warnings beneath the simple statement.

Tala only nodded, and then strode slowly to where the giant Bone Keeper stood, a massive Bone Greatsword plunged into the ground beside him.

"You speak for the Ideal Masters?" she asked in a loud voice when she got close enough.

The massive figure only nodded, slowly. The sound that issued from the waggling jaw was not a single voice, but rather a chorus of groans.

"You bring chaos and destruction wherever you go, Tala of Earth," their mouthpiece uttered. "Because of you, the careful order of the Soul Cairn is imbalanced. Leave these lands, or more innocent souls shall suffer."

"I can see things have really gone to _shit_ since the last time I was here," Tala agreed, looking around at the ruins closest to them. "And that was just me and my girlfriend. Now I have an _army_ of the undead at my beck and call, not to mention the First Dragonborn. What do you think I can do in a single afternoon? How much havoc can I wreak in a _month_? A _year?_ "

The Keepers' skull showed no trace of emotion.

"Come now, Little Tala," THEY creaked, and the head tilted in a macabre mockery of a grin. "We are all reasonable here. Let us strike a bargain, and exchange truths, rather than threats."

"TRUTHS?" guffawed Tala. "Since _when_ do the Ideal Masters deal in truth? Half-Truths, maybe, to cover lies and deceit. I ought to pull every stone of this plane apart and leave you with nothing but a desolate desecrated desert to rule over."

"We would rebuild," snarled the Keeper. "What is _Time_ to the Ideal Masters?"

"A damned inconvenience," answered Tala. "How many _AGES_ did it take to carefully construct these towers and collect these souls? I can build portals at will and ferry your carefully-hoarded souls to the Other Side _en masse_."

"YOU WOULD NOT DARE."

The bones trembled in unutterable fury, and the massive hands clenched in a uncontainable explosion of passion.

"You would unleash _thousands_ of untethered souls upon Tamriel?" The Voices groaned. "Think of the pandemonium they would bring, the madness that would en… You don't care, do you?"

"Not a whit."

There was a long moment, and then each word escaped the teeth of the Keeper like a flung dagger:

"WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT?"

"Durnehviir."

The Keeper's head tilted again in confusion. Whatever answer they had been expecting, apparently that was not one of them. "What?"

"Release all claims to Durnehviir and return unto him the time and vitality this place has stolen from him," Tala elaborated. "He is to be returned to the Plane of Tamriel in full health, with no oath, bond, or bondage laid upon him, or his soul."

"His soul is OURS," the Voices hissed. "He entered into the bargain, willingly and without coercion."

"And now we are making a new bargain," Tala agreed simply. "One _unwilling_ and _with_ coercion."

The hands flexed; once, twice, and three times.

"And then you will leave the Cairn, _never to return_?" the Voices came finally.

"Once I and my army reach our destination," Tala nodded, pointing her chin in the direction of the distant pillar of white light, marking where Valerica had opened a portal of her own. "You have my word."

"AND YOUR BOND?"

Tala drew a dagger from the small of her back and drew a thin red line on her palm; enough for a single drop of blood to fall to the otherworldly soil.

"SO BE IT."

The Keeper drew itself tall, and then crumbled to pieces before her, leaving the woman standing alone on the plane.

 **"So… no battle, then."**

"So it would seem," Tala answered, her left eye remaining green, while her right shone a brilliant blue. "And if you wish for there not to be, then you _stay unseen_."

 **"It is hardest here,"** Potema complained petulantly. **"A girl's got to stretch her legs every now again."**

"Not here," hissed Tala, "And not in front of our whole fucking army."

 **"Fine."**

Just then, her entourage approached, followed by an amused Miraak.

"Well?" Serana asked.

"I've just had a fascinating conversation with the Ideal Masters," Tala smiled.

"And?" Icando inquired, after a long moment of silence. "My Queen?"

"We've been granted safe passage to the other side," Tala nodded. "And in return for our _not_ invading Oblivion, they have agreed to release Durnehviir."

Miraak started like he'd been slapped, whirling to look at Tala.

"Signal the men forward again, Movarth," Tala ordered, re-summoning her horse. "I want to be back in Markarth by the end of the day."

She paused after remounting her horse.

"Poor Aldmeri," she sighed, shaking her head. "They were so ready to fight and die to avenge their families and loved ones, all to reclaim their homeland. Now they have reclaimed it, without so much as a single blow struck."

She turned in the saddle to see columns of captives and prisoners, hemmed in by their vampiric captors, starring in horror at the Soul Cairn around them.

"And all they will find in their reclaimed homeland is burnt ash, and an aimless horde of undead."

She clicked her tongue, and Arvak spurred forward, leaving blue sparks of magical fire behind. As they watched her follow the foremost ranks of her army, Vighar began to chuckle.

"Little more than a year ago," the ancient vampire said, "We were hunted refugees, huddled in caves and ruined keeps, praying to the Daedra that we would not be discovered."

"Now we march across a Plane of Oblivion," Nestor Constantine nodded. "with the spoils of an entire province borne on the backs of an army."

"Who would have believed such a thing was possible?" Serana breathed quietly.

"She did," Miraak answered them, pushing past to follow the more distant figure. "And that's why she accomplished it, and you fools did not."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I will not bring sub-par work "just to put a chapter up." Maybe that's me being a perfectionist, but I strongly feel that you all deserve more, and deserve better. I had a much larger chapter written out, but then upon rereading it for the hundredth time, decided it was mostly nonsensical, and disjointed. MANY edits later, this is all that remains of that chapter, and I am attempting to rework and rewrite the following ones, which I will add here as soon as I am satisfied with them.**

 **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticism is always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

tylermech66, LimeBun – Welcome to the story, you two! I hope you keep reading and reviewing!

Luadog, derpysauce, JimmyHall24, hopelessromantic34, GalaticHalfling, Guest – Well, Lewis _sent_ Barbas to warn her, and she and Titus have never met or exchanged agreements. So really, no betrayal has occurred…. YET. But yeah, Titus Mede II is about to enter a world of pain and hurt that will make his Second "Great War" look like a playground brawl.

rc48177, SIDoragon – Well, he IS _trying_ to be Tiber Septim, or at least live up to his legacy.

Zeru'Xil – I can hear it too.

ranma hibiki – Glad you enjoy it so much! To be honest, I tend to cringe when reading the early chapters. I guess we are each our own greatest critics.

JDLENL – Thanks for the correction!

Blaise Welshman – I haven't used gargoyles all that much. Largely because according to the lore, they are living animals that grow stone skin by staying still so long. Haven't really figured out a cool thing to do with them yet. To be determined at a later date.

Hunter Redflame – I have no idea what you mean…. :P ;)

Tech Warrior Ender – They are not idiots, or else they wouldn't have lasted this long. But what they haven't realized is that every action that they take directly causes the future to change, so by now, there's little or nothing left of the "game world" they're trying to protect.  
And Tala's 100% committed to being power hungry.

Guest – Yeah, I was immensely disappointed with the Ebony Warrior. To me, it breaks the whole immersion bit to have someone just spawn in just be a "challenge" to a high-enough ranking player.

Shadow Pegasus, NotRevan, METALHELLSPWN, siddharth1998m – Thanks so much! :D The story doesn't happen without readers and reviewers like you!

* * *

EE-RAH!


	46. Chapter 46: What the Future Holds

***MARKARTH*  
THE REACH**

 _Markarth Side_ had _never_ , in its long history, ever seen such a crowd fill its streets, spilling beyond the city's walls in a seemingly never-ending celebration of dancing, feasting, and song. The news of the return of not only their Queen, but of the majority of the army which had departed for the Summerset Isle, had prompted similar celebrations all across the northwest corner of Tamriel. But on the heels of the news had come the royal proclamation of a Victory Celebration, to be observed on the thirty-first day of Frostfall.

That had been almost six days ago. The one-day celebration had steam-rolled spontaneously into nearly a week-long festival, most likely, many suspected, due to the influence of the Lord of Misty Vale, or perhaps the Prince of Madness, or some combination of both or more. But now, the crowd had fallen comparatively silent, and all eyes turned to the dais that had been constructed high above them, over what _had_ been the gatehouse of the city wall.

A solitary figure walked across the platform, clad from head to toe in a scarlet dress, and clad in what appeared to be a cloak of mirror-black raven feathers. On her head was the newly-made _Vodahmin Crown_ , a splendid thing, worked around the small circlet that had been the enchanted circlet of the Wolf-Queen.

But perhaps even more impressive than the figure of the _Vodahmin_ 's queen was the sight of the polished black stone, buffed to a mirror shine. The Obsidian Throne had been the labor of a hundred Orsimer smiths, forged and brought from the heart of their fortress in northern High Rock.

Tala Niwot, tiny against the _massive expanse_ of people, of all races, faiths, and peoples, sat down and gripped the arms of her new throne; a physical symbol of the place she now held within _her_ people's hearts.

 _MY people_ , her heart surged with emotion.

Then she opened her mouth, and the Word-Magic was strong with her voice, as every person gathered, both _right next_ tothe dais, and on the opposite end of the city's stables, to the ones gathered around the entrance to the City of Stone's Warrens could bear witness. Every soul gathered heard their queen's voice _perfectly_ clear, as if she was sitting on their hearth, speaking _only_ to them.

"My subjects… my lords and ladies… dare I say, my friends?"

A swell of pride ran through the hearts of all present, and heads nodded almost unconsciously.

"The noble Orsimer, no longer the homeless and pariah _Orcs_ , have been restored to their rightful home of Orsinium."

The green-skinned warriors lifted weapons and wine cups with equal gusto, roaring their approval.

"The People of the Reach, no longer the despised Foresworn, rule and dwell in the Reach in _peace_ , for them and their children's children."

Many of the crowd, still dressed in their customary feather and bone headdresses, shouted their adoration.

"The Children of the Daedra, vampire and were-creature alike, dwell in harmony with their neighbors."

More throats and blades were bared as these cheered themselves hoarse to demonstrate their devotion.

"The Aldmeri Dominion, the ones who sought to stamp out the worship of Talos, of the Daedra, and who insisted upon hunting their worshippers like _animals_ , have fallen. Their temples are cast down, their strongholds broken, their people chained and enslaved."

Tala's eyes blazed, and she shot to her feet, her emotions lending weight and vehemence to her speech:

"Everything we have set to out to achieve, we have accomplished. The People of the _Vodahmin_ Covenant, from Daggerfall to Markarth, from Stros M'Kai to Fharun, are free. Redguard & Breton, Vampire & Nord, Exile & Scorned…

ALL.

ARE.

FREE!"

The City of Stone _shook_ with the roar that followed the words. Centuries later, bards would tell stories and songs of glass goblets and window panes shattering at the sheer noise.

"HAIL QUEEN TALA!"

"HAIL HER WITH GREAT PRAISE!"

Among the ranks of her veterans, a war-song broke out, and the rest of the crowd joined the warlike chant that had become so popular during the Second Great War:

 _We are the point!  
We are the edge!  
_ _We are the wolves that Potema Fed!_

 _We are the bolt!  
We are the shaft!  
We are the darts the Daedra cast! _

Tala allowed the chant to repeat itself a few times before she lifted a single hand in acknowledgement, the roars and cheers redoubling as she descended the platform into the streets. Clad in black Daedric Armor, Teryn'garwch led her bodyguards, among them Skoberth Black-Song and others who had been with her since her first days at Solitude, through the crowded streets, the throngs of people parting before the otherworldly Dremora warrior. She waved to the cheering crowd, here and there acknowledging one of her warriors by name, each time earning a beaming smile of uncontested devotion.

After a while, the doors to the Understone Keep slammed shut behind her, muffling the noise of the chanting crowd. Tala sighed, but then drew herself up again when she came into what once had been the area where Calcelmo had set up his workshop. Now, a wide circle of thrones had replaced the Dwemer artifacts and enchanting table. Standing as she entered, the Lords of the _Vodahmin_ bowed low to acknowledge their Witch-Queen:

Icando Damn-Rune, Hand of the Queen,

Nestor Constantine, Head of Research and Development

Movarth Piquine, Warden of the South

Lord Vighar, Lord of the Undercity,

Lady Kaie, Steward of Markarth,

Borkul the Beast, Warden of the North,

Laila Law-Giver, newly-appointed Mistress of Coin,

And newly-blooded Aela, Lady of the Hunt, with the canine teeth of her predecessor Helmmir adorning her neck on the ends of a golden _torc_.

The other thrones were occupied by crowned figures:

King Burguk of Orsinium,

King Anorak Septim of Shornhelm, Warden of High Rock,

Lord Kematu, Warden of Hammerfell,

King Aelfric of Evermore,

King Telstar of Jehanna,

Vicereine Beira of Fharun,

And Lady Valerica of Volkihar.

And two new figures had joined their circle:

Admiral Hasdach Chard, self-proclaimed, yet uncontested, Lord of the Corsairs of Wayrest,

And young King Emeric represented the joint crown of Daggerfall and Camlorn.

His father Allaric had fought long and hard against this new _Vodahmin_ Covenant, and the stories were conveniently _vague_ as to whether he had killed his delusional father himself and seized power, or (as he often and loudly proclaimed) he had _retaken_ it from a cabal of his late father's generals and military commanders who had attempted a foolhardy palace _coup_.

 _And it won't do to look too closely into that affair_ , Potema chuckled as Tala strode to her seat, twin werebears setting down the Obsidian Throne in its place with a _THUD_. Behind her stood the unassuming-yet-voluptuous figure of Serena, who put a hand on her lover's shoulder and squeezed _just_ slightly as Tala sat.

"Now, my friends," she said in a determined voice as her vassals resumed their seats, "the harder task falls to us: We have _secured_ our freedom, and our liberty. Now we must _keep it_. We have won the war: now comes the harder task of winning our _peace_."

Heads nodded gravely as Serana waved her hands, a map of Tamriel appearing in the empty circle created by the thrones.

"We have fought alongside one another, shoulder to shoulder in the _skjold-veggen_."

Standing behind Laila Law-Giver, Kottir Red-Shoal bowed slightly, a grin on the face of the former Stormcloak general.

"Now we must dwell together, neighbor with neighbor, brothers and sisters, in peace."

The Mace of Molag Bol appeared in her hand, and was set with an almost-comic gentleness across her knees.

"And secure it from those who would take it from us."

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER***

The City was still firmly in the throes of celebration of merrymaking, the festival taking a completely different now tone as night fell. The city itself was lit with torches, and the expansive crowds outside the city were illuminated by giant bonfires, around which tiny figures could be seen to dance. Tala smiled softly as the faint noise of music and song wafted up to the summit of the Understone Keep, along with the smell of wine and roasting meat.

Beside her, Durnehviir and Miraak also peered down at the city now far below the trio.

"We are preparing to take our leave," Miraak said quietly. Tala turned to give the First Dragonborn a smile.

"Stros M'Kai is no Solstheim, but they are in need of a leader," she said gently. "What's more, they _more_ desperately need a _defender_ and _protector_."

Miraak's brows furrowed, and Tala was once again reminded of how cheated the players of her world's "Elder Scrolls" game had never gotten to see the handsome face beneath that impassive mask that now hung on his belt.

"You did not _have_ to give me anything, Tala of Wyoming," he said in an even quieter voice. Tala now took a step closer, actually laying a hand on his upper arm, waiting until the man's eyes met her own.

"You are my _friend_ , Miraak," she smiled. "I owe you my life, and my freedom."

The smile that he gave her in return was gentle, and equally wistful.

"Which is no more than I owe you."

"More than _both of us_ owe you, Qahnaarin," the giant dragon rumbled beside them. "DII LAAS LOS HIN: My life is yours. I will bear the _Dovahkiin_ to Stros M'Kai and support him with _Thu'um_ and wing, as _Grah-Zeymahzin_. As it was long ago, so shall it be again."

"And _this_ time," Tala nodded, "there is no Alduin to oppose you, or his allies."

"And no beings have a claim on our souls," Miraak chuckled, and both Tala and the now-free dragon joined in on the mirth.

"Perhaps there is hope for _Sovngarde_ for you after all, Miraak of Solstheim," Tala laughed.

"Perhaps," he chuckled. "Stranger things have happened in only the past few months, eh?"

"Come, _FAHDON,"_ The ancient dragon said, stretching his wings and feeling the wind. "It is time and past that we should be away."

Miraak reached down, replacing the tentacled mask on his face. "Quite right, old friend," he said, and climbed up to mount the dragon's neck. Tala reached up, placing one hand on the dragon's neck gently, and squeezing Miraak's hand in her other.

"Send me word, and keep watch to the south and east," she said earnestly. "We have not seen the last of the Altmer or the Empire, I think."

Miraak nodded his agreement, and then Durnehviir beat his great wings, and the pair lifted clear of the platform, gliding down over the city before banking right, heading westward.

" **Dangerous** _ **."**_

Potema Septim appeared next to Tala, watching the winged figure disappear into the dim moonlight.

 **"We should have shackled his mask as well."**

"He's been manipulated and controlled for _hundreds_ of years longer than either of us have been alive, Potema," Tala shook her head. "He would have realized what was happening."

 **"Regardless what's he's done for us in the past, you would do well to remember that he _rebelled_ against _Alduin_ ,"** Potema pointed out. **"Giving him his own island to rule will only whet his appetite and cause him to plot our own overthrow."**

"The other lords' and rulers' masks will soon begin keeping them under our sway," Tala soothed. "They won't even be _capable_ of contemplating rebellion, and _if_ Miraak begins to turn against _us_ , he will not be able to withstand _all_ of us. On top of that, he will _need_ us when his showdown with dear Lewis comes around, and vice versa."

 **"The masks will keep the other rulers infatuated with you and fanatically loyal,"** agreed Potema, **"But there aren't enough to go around. We must look into possibly creating more of our own. Hasdach and Emeric have been with us the shortest and are the most likely anyway to try and go their own way soon. Maybe a few enchanted _rings_ might be in order,"** and she winked at the Traveler from Earth.

Tala ignored the reference and shook her head again.

"Not rings," she said. "They both have jewelry enough, and any masks we _made_ wouldn't be near as powerful as the ancient ones, which would be taken as a slight."

 **"Enchanting that golden _torc_ for that two-faced were-bitch was _inspired_ ,"** Potema chuckled. **"She's so proud of ripping poor Helmmir's throat open, she'll wear that til her dying day. And soon we won't have to worry about the little notes she _thinks_ she's smuggling out of the castle. You know, I think she actually _still loves_ that insufferable Dragonborn?"**

"There's no accounting for taste," Tala shrugged, and smiled along with the Wolf Queen. "What do you think of an enchanted _sword_ for the Corsair? That is something immensely practical for everyday use."

 **"Not bad,"** Potema admitted, after thinking for a moment. **"It has to be something powerful enough for them to use, often enough for the enchantment to take effect, and yet generic enough that their heirs or successors will accept the tokens easily. I like it."**

There was silence for a moment between the two.

 **"You know, you've done much better than I thought you would, Little Tala,"** Potema said at last. **"That day outside Wolfskull Cave?"**

"And you have turned out to not be _nearly_ as much of a raging bitch as I thought _you would_ , Oh-So-Evil-And-Scary-Potema," Tala retorted, but her smile matched the Septim's.

 **"Hey now,"** the queen said, raising an eyebrow. **"Remember that phrase you taught me from your world."**

Tala furrowed her brow. "Which one?" she asked. "There've been several."

Potema smiled, and the spectral figure looked out over the two's newly-won queendom.

 **"Bitches get shit done."**

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well everyone, that's a wrap for** **The Wolf Queen Awakened!  
** **This completes the original arc I had for the story, and rather than having an unwieldy 60-odd chapter story, I'd much rather, and I think you** _ **readers**_ **would rather, just have a second story published.**

 **If enough people would be interested, I will hopefully have the next story,** **The Wolf Queen Regnant** **, up before too long.**

 **My sincere thanks to all the readers and reviewers. Thanks to you, this went from a little silly concept I had in my head, to a full-on, world-altering saga, taking us from familiar Skyrim all the way to Valenwood and the Summerset Isle.**

 **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticism is always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

METALHELLSPWN – ESO is a lot of fun! Thanks for letting me cameo your OC!

NotRevan, GalacticHalfling, Draco Oblivion, Zeru'Xil – I think Tala's coolness does stem a little bit from the "this is a video game" thinking leftover from her Earth days.

rc48177 – Honestly, I didn't set out to make the Vampire Coast, but that's kinda what happened, isn't it? ;P

Bloodwolf432 – I see what you did there. :P

vmage2, Dumnezeu, SIDoragon– I love pissing off omnipotent beings as well. And Durnehviir FTW.

derpysauce – As long as people are willing to read, I'm willing to write! :)

TheHatter1, Leblanc23 – Yep! Trans-dimensional travel, and presto-change-o, thousands of miles crossed in a second. And the Argonians actually invaded Oblivion during the Crisis, so most planes are very wary of living travelers wandering in.

tylermech66 – Yeah, but the drawback is that the Ideal Masters are CONSTANTLY trying to screw you over the whole time you're there.

ranma hibiki – Dawnstar has already been saved, yes, and most of the draugr tombs have been cleared out. But Blackreach is still mostly unexplored, largely because it's just about the size of Skyrim….

FourLivingCreatures – Yep, I imagine Ol' Hermy dragging souls from alternate dimensions is quite the shocking scandal in the Oblivion gossip, and such a soul would be priceless to whoever could secure one…

silent orphan – I deny everything. :P But yes, these days, with RL bombarding me, I tend to frame my stories as single scenes, or bits. And I have no idea when the muse for the next one will strike, so I try to get it to you all ASAP.

ShotoGun – The Aedra and their backlash (OR LACK THEREOF) to this blatant interference will be a topic to be addressed in the next story arc.

The Perpetual Shadow, Guest, jdboss1 - Thanks so much! Appreciate it!

EE-RAH!


	47. Chapter 47: Epilogue

***COLLEGE OF WINTERHOLD***

 **WINTERHOLD  
SKYRIM**

"Alesan!" Llewellyn Dragonborn laughed, being dragged along the College's passageways by the hand. "What in the world is going on?"

"This way, Father!" Alesan answered, beaming at his adopted father. "Sarai said it was a surprise!"

Navigating the maze of the College's lower levels would have left others hopelessly lost. But Llewellyn and his children had spent many months here, splitting their time between each of the eight holds that remained in Skyrim, while the Dragonkeep in Helgen was being completed. Sofie and Alesan knew every inch of the College like the back of their hands, much to the chagrin of whatever housecarl or college student assigned to keep an eye on the children.

Finally, the door ahead of them opened, and two figures turned toward the newcomers. Enthir and Sarai Gellarus both bowed in respect as Llew approached. He waved aside their gestures of obeisance. Enthir had been his friend even when the Bosmer had been a lowly fence for the Thieves' guild, long before he had even _known_ he was the Dragonborn, much less been High King. And Sarai was of course, his most trusted friend, confidant, and lover.

"We have a surprise for you, my king," she smiled, and the grin was like predatory wolf eyeing a staked goat.

Enthir shot him an equally smug grin. "It took us a _long_ while," he said, "With much trial and error. Well, mostly error, if we're honest."

"But we've finally got it," Sarai finished. Excitement was blazing in both of their eyes, and the enthusiasm in the room was _palpable_.

"What?" Llew asked after a long and pregnant silence.

Sarai stepped aside, and lifted the cover off of the table.

Llewellyn Hereon gasped, and stepped forward to grasp the long weapon that Sarai now offered to him. The long barrel was cast in Dwarven Metal, but the stock was beautifully carved out of walnut. _Magical_ runes hummed along seemingly every inch of the barrel, and in strategic points of the stock as well.

"This is… It's… Is this what I think it is?" he stammered breathlessly.

Sarai indicated a wicker target set up on the far side of the long room.

"It's loaded and ready to go… if you can remember how to work it?"

Lewis Heron smiled and closed his eyes, remembering the movies of his youth, before he had been _pulled_ across the threshold of death into a realm he had known only as a game. He planted the butt-stock against his shoulder, casting his eye down the long barrel. A crude sight had been placed on the top, with a single dot on the end of the weapon, to be lined up with the two dots closer to him.

"Here goes nothing," he grinned, and took long aim.

 _It would be very bad form for the High King to miss his first shot_ , he thought to himself, and then pulled the trigger.

For a half-moment, he thought he had done something wrong: the hammer moved, and there was a small _flash_ of sparks, then nothing. Suddenly, a _thunderous_ BOOM sounded, and the weapon kicked against him like a mule that had been wronged. Recovering his balance, Llewellyn peered through the black smoke that now filled the room to see the distant target now wreathed in blue magical flames.

"Every musket-ball is enchanted with a Fire-Rune," the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold explained with a satisfied grin.

The High King of Skyrim gaped openly, and turned back to the other three figures in the room: his friend, his adopted son, and his lover.

"Not a _word_ of this gets out, before we can put them into mass production," he said in a low voice.

"We are already quietly putting the word out for blacksmiths across the eight holds," Enthir nodded in confirmation. "The College will be the _only_ ones capable of producing the weapons, have no fear, Majesty. Without the hidden runes, the weapon _will_ fly apart in an explosion that _will_ kill whoever attempts to recreate it."

"Muzzle-loader?"

"Easiest to make," Sarai nodded. "But with enough training, it can still fire three to four times a minute, at nearly double the range of any crossbow or arrow. And," she placed a hand on the barrel, and a row of runes gleamed along the barrel, " _it will_ hit what you point it at, if it's within range, which is an improvement over… _earlier_ models."

Lewis nodded. " _The muskets from our world_ ," had been what Sarai had almost said, but held back for Enthir and Alesan's sake. "This," he marveled, "this could alter the balance of power in Skyrim."

"No, my king."

At his puzzled expression, Sarai stepped forward and took the weapon from his hands.

"This will alter the balance of power for the _world_."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Head to my profile and subscribe to this story's sequel: Skyrim: The Wolf Queen Reigns!**

 **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticism is always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**


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